


Crazy, Stupid, Love

by kahlannightwing



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Asexuality Spectrum, Crazy Stupid Love, Drinking & Talking, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Nonbinary Character, mentions of gays in history, rewrite of a movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 45,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahlannightwing/pseuds/kahlannightwing
Summary: It was supposed to just be a nice dinner celebrating their anniversary, but Tracy has an important announcement to make. In the wake of the news, Aziraphale wanders into a bar lit by neon lights. His first impression of Anthony Crowley? He's much too flash for his own good. But Crowley's charms cannot be denied.What will come of new friendships, lost relationships, and a son with questions Aziraphale has never even tried to answer for himself?Written for the Good Omens RomCom event, this story will re-write the movie Crazy, Stupid, Love. I don't recommend you watch the movie if you haven't already. Changes include: it's gay, homophobia of the script writer removed, creepy teenage antics removed, icky cheating that remains not apologized for and blamed on the titular male character removed, and love that isn't just reduced to "soul mates" and instead has roots in meaningful connections and obvious friendships. Some scenes were maintained because they were good parts of the movie.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 58
Kudos: 104
Collections: Good Omens Rom Com Event





	1. The Divorce

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me what you think of this fic as I'm working on some subjects from my own experience and some not.

There were pairs of shoes under tables in the fancy restaurant, as silverware clinked faintly overhead. Feminine heels rubbed against masculine dress shoes under one table, under a second two pairs of feet, masculine and feminine again, tapped to the soft music playing, and at a third table a foot prodded from its feminine shoe to run up a masculine trouser leg.

This table though, that was the focus, had a pair of feminine and masculine shoes that were not playing footsie. There were an elegant pair of burgundy stilettos and opposite a modest pair of brown leather loafers. Toeing at the carpet, the stilettos stretched, pointing toward the tan trousers across from them. The loafers were still and, finally, the stilettos settled.

Like the fidgeting of the stilettos, their owner, red, curly hair piled on top of a weathered but gentle face, fingered her menu and glanced over it at her companion. Tracy bit at her red-stained lips, long lashes fluttering in concern before her eyes firmly fixed on the menu's words.

The owner of the loafers, by contrast, was smiling faintly, his lips parted slightly as his crinkled gaze caught a description of a dessert that delighted him. A pair of reading glasses perched on his nose as he tipped his face upwards to see the menu's print. "I might be too full for dessert." Aziraphale lingered on the words before his smile grew wider. "Who am I kidding," he teased. "I always have room for dessert! We should both get one."

There was no response except for a shaky breath from Tracy.

Aziraphale finally looked up, reaching to slip off his glasses and re-pocket them. Tracy's attention was set on the menu in front of her. Aziraphale brow wrinkled in concern at her silence. "Tracy, dear, are you quite alright? You've been quiet all through dinner. Though, to be fair, I can become as caught up in a meal as a book." His smile was meant to comfort, but it slipped when Tracy looked at him with wet eyes.

Why did she look like she wanted to burst into tears? He couldn't think of anything that had happened in the last ten minutes since they'd sat down to warrant that. He let the menu settle onto the table as she opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again, his stomach doing an unsettling flip.

"Aziraphale, I-" She stopped herself, reached a hand out to wad her napkin in it, and shook her head. "I'm just thinking...about what I want." She bit at her lower lip again.

Even Aziraphale would admit he was slow to catch onto things. His clothing, a tan jacket overlaying a waistcoat with worn buttons topped with a tartan bow — nothing in the style of today's fashions — attested to that. He was not so obtuse to not notice Tracy's distress. That didn't mean he knew how to respond to it, especially when he didn't know it's source, but that didn't mean he couldn't offer general sympathy. "You don't need to worry about dessert if you don't want it. I can take some, and we can go home."

"It's not that, Aziraphale," she declared, relaxing her hand to let the napkin straighten before her fingers began to smooth it out. "I— Oh, I know what I want. I just don't know how to say it. And I'm afraid I've messed all of this up!"

This seemed very serious. Aziraphale's eyes were wide as he stared at Tracy in concern. Reaching a hand across the table, he grasped her hand. "Just tell me whatever's bothering you? We've been married for years now. Surely there's nothing you can say as my friend that I couldn't handle...that we can't handle together." He smiled at her with a confidence he wasn't feeling in his legs. They felt rubbery.

Those words only seemed to make things worse. Tears began to stream down Tracy's face as she clung to his need in desperation. "Oh, Aziraphale-- " She took another shaky breath. "I need a divorce."

"Y-you need a...?" His voice echoed in his ears. He cleared his throat, as if that would affect it, and tried again. "You need a divorce?" He slipped his hand out of her grasp and placed both hands carefully on the table, folding his fingers together to still them. The sensation in his legs and stomach intensified as his pounding heart joined them.

Tracy eyed his hands, her smile both sad and fond even as she continued crying. "Yes. I-I thought doing it here would be better." They could both feel the stares of people around them: pitying, shocked, and eager to hear more. "I needed to make sure you listened, but—"

"—Needed to make sure I listened? Tracy, how could you— Why would you think I wouldn't listen?" He attempted to pitch his voice into offense, but it wobbled at the end, and his fingers twitched. How could she think here and now was a good time to announce this. They were celebrating their anniversary, and even though they weren't a traditional couple, that wasn't the point! This was...unconscionable.

Tracy sighed, shaking her head as he picked up the napkin to wipe under her eyes and at her cheeks. "Aziraphale," she began to say, and then sighed a second time. "Let's go home. It was a horrible idea to bring this up here. I'm sure Anathema has put Adam to bed by now. We can talk more there."

The mention of their adopted son made him jerk back, a soft frown on his face. He parted his lips, closed his mouth as his brows drew down, and nodded. As he signaled for the waiter and waited for the check, his body grew stiffer. He didn't know what to say or how to respond. His mind reeled with that revelation.

Tracy wanted — needed to divorce him. Why? Had he— Had he done something? His mind raced backwards, trying to pinpoint the moment he might've done something wrong. Then he tried to figure out when Tracy had decided she needed to get a divorce.

He'd prided himself on not having to worry about second-guessing things — anything — with Tracy. They had been friends for decades. They had been married for two of those decades. Was it because of what she'd said about wanting to make sure he paid attention? What if that was it? Maybe his attention not only led to this result, but kept him being able to figure out what had happened to lead to it.

He could see Tracy gnawing at her bottom lip as she paid the bill. Then they made their way to the car.

Tracy sat in the driver's seat, and Aziraphale had never been more glad he couldn't drive. How could he drive when his stomach was flipping? He felt ill. Should he say something? All he had were questions, but the silence was oppressive.

"I know we've been together for a long time," Tracy began. She paused, and Aziraphale looked over to see her knuckles clutching at the wheel.

Was he supposed to say something to that? How could he possibly respond? Yes, they had been together for a long time. They had been together by mutual agreement. He had no idea what he'd done wrong to breach that casual agreement. 

He turned to stare straight ahead, missing the weight of dessert in his lap. He could at least take some comfort in something sweet, though to be fair, he wasn't hungry now. His hands twitched in his lap. His buttons were right there and he could touch and rub them to soothe himself. He resisted because he wanted to make sure he heard her.

"Twenty-five years." Tracy's soft voice broke the quiet. "And we've been good friends, such good friends. I'm glad we got married. It's been wonderful to be with my best friend."

Frowning, his fingers twitched before his hands slid up to rest on his waistcoat's buttons, tracing their edges. His lips parted and then closed. What was her point? He agreed with her. They were best friends. It was lovely to have a partner for this long, just like they'd promised. So why did she need a divorce? He was content!

"I'm sorry this is hurting you, Aziraphale. I didn't want to hurt you." Tracy glanced over at him and looked back at the road. "I met someone. He's— I really like him, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale's fingers began to run over the buttons before gripping them firmly. He was still except for his hands. He was expected to say something. He knew he was. He was always expected to say something when he had no idea what to say. He recalled an earlier time, so much earlier, when he had been expected to say something. He remembered what he did instead.

He could feel her eyes on him, focused on his hands. "I wanted to— Aziraphale, I would never do anything without telling you first. I just...I really messed this up. You look so up— Of course you look upset."

He still couldn't respond, but he rather thought his frown was evident. Of course he was upset! He hadn't done anything. She'd found someone else…. She'd found someone to love? Was that really it? She'd decided to tell him she needed a divorce in a crowded restaurant, in public, and say it was because he wouldn't pay attention otherwise? What must she think of him? Didn't she trust him enough to just say she liked someone?

He felt something replace the wobbly legs and acidy, roiling stomach. He felt anger rise up like a hot wave inside him.

"I like him quite a lot. I want to," she sighed, "well, I want to be free for him. Do you understand?

"I don't want to hurt you, but I knew as soon as he spoke to me that I liked him. I liked him in a different way than I like you. Shadwell. You remember Shadwell. You met at the Christmas party."

"Please stop," Aziraphale choked. He was so angry! His insides were hot and his eyes were hot and he wanted to yell and throw something. His brows were drawn down, face crumbled, as he picked at the buttons and wore down the cloth around them more.

"Oh, oh of course!" Tracy exclaimed. Her wide eyes grew watery again as she glanced between him and the road. They were maybe a block away from home by now. He didn't have to wait long. "What can I do for you? Is there anything I can do?"

Her sympathetic voice almost caused the tide of emotions to overflow. He just couldn't do this in front of her right now. He didn't know if he ever could do this in front of her again. "Stop the car and let me walk home?" His voice trembled slightly at the end, pitching up so that what could have been a demand was a hesitant request.

"Are you—? Yes, you are sure. You're always sure," she agreed. The car crunched over the debris at the curb as she pulled over. She had barely put it into park before Aziraphale's door opened.

Fumbling with the seat-belt, he tumbled out and onto the sidewalk, unable to catch himself as he tripped over the curb. His knees hit the sidewalk with a shock of stinging pain. He sat there for a bit before pulling himself to his feet.

Tracy was already out of the car, hurrying around to cry, "Aziraphale! Are you okay?" She hovered near him, an outstretched hand hesitating near him.

"I'm fine. I'm fine." He leaned over to brush at his knees. The pain cleared his head some. He was fine. He would be fine. He'd been alone before her and had figured he would be alone for the rest of his life. He could do it again. "I'm fine," he repeated. He looked up at her, his own eyes shining with pain and unshed tears. "I'll sign whatever you want me to sign if you'll just stop talking about it," he bit off as some of his anger showed.

She leaned back, the hand falling away. Biting her reddened lower lip, she nodded, turning to make her way back to the car without looking back. Aziraphale stood, hands limp at his sides, as he watched her pull out from the curb and drive slowly off.

When it went around a corner, he turned and began to walk back to the house. His hands glided over his buttons gently.

"Oh," he whimpered. This night had not gone anything like he'd thought. A nice quite dinner was all he'd asked. A celebration of his and Tracy's marriage. His knees throbbed with pain., he hadn't gotten to have dessert, and the wine he'd drank sloshed uncomfortably in his stomach. Worst of all, Tracy needed to divorce him and hadn't trusted him enough except to just— 

"Needed to make sure I listened," he grumbled. The light from nearby porches and the streetlamps kept his path illuminated. He listened all the time! Tracy loved to talk about her newest customers, her regulars as well, coming in for their fortune telling or magical supplies.

Had she mentioned Shadwell before?

She must have, though he didn't remember all the names of the people she told stories about. There were a lot of people and a lot of stories. Shadwell was— Shadwell was someone she liked. He'd met him at some Christmas party, but he hated parties and tended to find a quiet corner to sit with a drink in.

She liked Aziraphale still right? She said she did, but she hadn't given any warning of this. She hadn't talked to him about whatever this was. She hadn't, had she? Had she actually tried to, and he'd missed it? Was that what she had meant?

It all didn't seem fair. One brown loafer plodded in front of the other, his eyes focused on the sidewalk as he ignored familiar houses nearby, counting the number of lines between each section of cement. Springing something like this at a nice dinner wasn't right. She should have just taken him aside and said….

Reaching his hands up, he rubbed at his face, turning the corner the car had taken earlier. He couldn't believe it was happening. They had been eating. He had been having a good time. How long as she sat there tonight with that need inside her? How long as they sat together over weeks or months, quietly reading, while she had known she had found someone and needed to tell him?

She had said she hadn't done anything without saying something to him. Was that—? No! Aziraphale shook him sternly. They didn't even have that kind of relationship. He could not believe that she would lie about that. She had no reason to. He was going to put that thought out of him right away.

What would he do now? Well, certainly he would do what he said. That didn't concern him so much. It would hurt the sign papers. It would hurt to wonder about Adam. It would hurt to move. He would do it because he had said he would. What else could he do? Could he argue?

He didn't want to argue. He didn't want to wonder about Adam and a place to stay for himself. He didn't want to do that tonight at least. Besides, there was no way he wouldn't be in Adam's life. He couldn't believe that Tracy would ask that.

He turned another corner on the block onto the street where their house was. He let his feet wander up to the sidewalk that led to the small porch. The car was in the driveway, turned off, and he didn't look at it until he heard the car door slam shut.

"Aziraphale," Tracy called.

His feet stopped. He turned to stare at her, wide-eyed. "You didn't go in?"

Tracy smiled, a soft gesture again, as she patted under her eyes carefully. There were no tear tracks on her cheeks, but her eyes were still wet. "No. I wanted to make sure you got home alright."

He straightened, insult warring with concern. "I know the way home," he stated firmly. "I'm fine."

Tracy's gaze was far too obtrusive after the things she had shared. "I know." She didn't make it clear if it was both or one of the statements she was responding to.

"Well we can't dither out here." He walked to the door, unlocking it and stepping inside the foyer. He heard the sound of feet shuffling toward them as Tracy stepped in behind him and closed the door.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fell, how was dinner," came Anathema's voice as she came into view. She smiled until she noticed Tracy's distraught movements and Aziraphale's dirty pants legs. "Oh...are you both okay?"

Her eyes, behind her glasses, look as alarmed as Aziraphale had felt all night.

"Perfectly fine, dear—"

"Tracy told me she needs a divorce, so I walked home, but I tripped and fell. I hope Adam behaved himself. Let me walk you home." It came out in a bitter tumble. He hadn't meant it to come out at all. He felt absolutely horrible for the shocked looks Tracy and Anathema shot him.

"Dad," Adam questioned from around the corner, his brown curls peeking into the hallway with eyes wide and lips parted.

Aziraphale felt a shock of pain inside now. "Oh, I didn't know you were here." The guilt that sank into his tongue hunched his shoulders.

Adam looked between Tracy and Aziraphale. "You're getting divorced?" His brows puckered between his eyes in confusion.

Tracy spoke up then in a light tone as Aziraphale's tongue tried to unwrap from the roof of his mouth. "Yes. Let me put you to bed, Adam. We'll talk about it." She held out a hand bedecked with rings, smiling.

Adam took her hand, but he paused beside Aziraphale, looking up at him seriously. "Dad?"

Aziraphale's fingers found their buttons again. "Y-yes, Adam?" He had no idea what the answers were to the questions in his son's eyes.

"I'm sorry you hurt yourself. Are you okay?" Adam reached out, clasping Aziraphale's hand and removing it from his waistcoat.

His lips wobbled again, and he stiffened them with sheer will. The tears were on the edges of his eyes now, but he couldn't let them go. He was the adult here, and he had to make up for his childish outburst. "Yes. I'm fine. Thank you for asking. You go up with your mother. I'm going to make sure Anathema gets home safely. I'll be back later tonight."

Adam nodded, face solemn, and released his hand. He smiled and waved to Anathema, polite even in the face of such a huge revelation.

Anathema smiled and waved back at him. "Goodnight, Adam." Aziraphale and she watched Tracy and Adam climb the stairs to the bedroom. Then Anathema turned back to Aziraphale and cleared her throat. "You don't have to walk me home."

"I do. Please," he responded, eyes lingering on the stairs before he looked at her. There was brittleness in his smile.

"Okay," Anathema agreed as easily as Tracy had, but it didn't feel like a gift. He'd had no right to air their personal grievances in front of her.

Turning, he nodded as he fumbled for the keys inside his jacket pocket. He opened the door, holding it open for her before following and locking the door behind them. "Thank you," he said. She was silent as he joined her in walking down the sidewalk.

As they passed the car and turned toward her house, Aziraphale cleared his throat, his hands flipping the keys in his hand, running the pads of his fingers over the metal teeth. "How is Newt?"

Anathema gave him a soft smile, glancing up from staring at her hands clasped in front of her. "He's fine. Still trying to get a job in IT. He has the worst luck with computers as you remember."

Aziraphale nodded, his thoughts pulling up memories of the young married couple's life. "Yes. I do recall. I believe he works in textiles now? Do you still have your shop? The one with the, um, eccentric items?"

She chuckled, waving a hand and then tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Her eyes looked owlish behind her glasses. "I do. You should stop by sometime. I could do a tarot reading." He knew she wasn't mentioning how much Tracy frequented the place.

Face falling, Aziraphale shook his head, pressing the keys into his hand until the bite of them ran a shock through his skin. "No. I don't think I need any help to see my future." It was spat out bitterly, and he mentally berated himself.

"Oh, I didn't mean—" She pressed a hand to her mouth, breathing in, and then released it in a sigh. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Aziraphale shook his head as he lowered it. He felt like all his edges were frayed. "No. I'm fine. I'm sorry, Anathema. You certainly had no idea about this mess. I'd rather not…. I'm-I'm just worried about Adam."

Anathema smiled. "You should talk to him. Maybe not tonight, but soon. I'm sure he'll want to understand."

"You're quite right." He also wanted to understand. He turned to smile at Anathema as they rounded the block. He began to cross the street without looking both ways, and Anathema had to hurry to catch up.

"If you do need to talk— I know I just babysit for you, but I'm a good listener."

Aziraphale sighed. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind. For now," he began, worrying at his bottom lip. "I believe I would like a place to get a drink. Do you know one close by I might walk to?"

Anathema paused before her door, turning to frown at Aziraphale. "I do, yes. It's straight that way and then hang a right and keep going straight." She pointed to Aziraphale's right. "Are you sure—?" She paused. "It's not really...your kind of place."

Waving a hand, Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. "I am quite sure I'll be fine. I've been in bars before. Thank you. Will you say good evening to Newt for me?"

"Of course," she nodded, smiling. "Are you sure you don't want to come in for a bit? We have drinks."

"Oh, I wouldn't want to impose." His hands rubbed against the keys again. He needed to go someplace where no one knew him. He didn't want someone asking questions when he didn't know the answers, and he was angry and-and hurt. "I'd like to be alone for a bit, just to think."

Anathema nodded, turning to unlock the door and step inside. By the time she had turned around to wave goodnight to Aziraphale, he was already walking away. He heard the door shut behind him.

He wasted no time in making his way to the bar, knowing that Tracy would likely be waiting up for him. He couldn't face her right now when he felt so raw. He hadn't felt like this for decades, and the memory of what had happened then tasted vile on his tongue.

He would go to the bar, drink until he was sure Tracy would be asleep, and then go back home. If he could sleep, he would do so on the couch. If he couldn't— Well this wouldn't be the first time the only thing to keep him company would be a book.

Now it likely wouldn't be the last.


	2. The Bar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale wonders into the bar Anathema told him about, but it surely isn't his scene. Meanwhile a red-head in a booth spies the increasingly drunker Aziraphale. His curiosity is peaked, so Crowley decides to talk to him. Aziraphale isn't an easy nut to crack though. To what lengths will he go to so his curiosity is sated?
> 
> Drunken antics ensue! Some of these scenes are taken from the transcript and not the actual movie.

This certainly was not the kind of place Aziraphale would normally visit. Then again, usually he frequented bars attached to fancy restaurants where he would order a nice red wine with a good nose before being seated. This place was lit with neon signs and crawling with mostly women, the few men interspersed in the crowd obviously there specifically for them.

He garnered a few stares for his state of clothing as he shuffled to the bar and slid onto a stool. Raising a hand, he waited until the bartender approached with a raised brow that definitely said 'what are you doing here?'

It was honestly a little offensive. He was here to get drunk.

"I'd like a—" He stared at the wall behind the man, who shifted on his feet with impatience as another patron called out to him. There was a line of hard liquors behind him, and Aziraphale squinted. "I'll take an Old-fashioned please."

With a grunt, the man turned away. Azirapahale would have preferred a red wine, but whatever they had here would be cheap stuff that would taste like wood-flavored cotton balls. An Old-fashioned was still classy enough he felt comfortable and would get him drunk.

A titter of feminine laughter rose in the air next to him. Turning in his stool, he peered into the dim lighting, attempting to see beyond the rainbow hues glancing off surfaces. At one of the tables to his right sat a man in a booth surrounded by three women.

He wore glasses below a shock of short red hair, his black suit an impeccable cut of slim style. The tie was the only bit of color, and it was a deeper shade of red than his hair. A watch that looked like it cost twice as much as Aziraphale's house flashed on his wrist.

He said something in a low rumble to the gathered women, and they laughed again. Two of them touched his arms as they leaned in, and then shared vicious grins with each other. Aziraphale didn't know if they were lauding their prize or fighting over it.

"Here's your drink," came the bartender's voice.

Wrinkling his nose at the pretentiousness — he was wearing sunglasses inside — he turned back to the bar to grasp the drink in two hands. There was a straw in it, and the scent wafting up meant the bartender put too much bitters in. "Thank you." He took a sip as the bartender walked away, coughing as the taste confirmed his fears.

Beggars could not be choosers so he took a longer drink. Raising the glass, he toasted an invisible person in front of him. "To divorces!" He could feel eyes on him, ignoring the sensation as he took another long sip.

As Aziraphale continued to nurse his drink, from behind his dark glasses, the red-head stared at him. Crowley and everyone else at the bar had heard the toast, and while he didn't raise his drink in solidarity, he certainly understood the sentiment.

Who wanted to get married when the result was likely to leave him in a broken state like that man?

"Am I boring you," the female next to him whined, her drink half-emptied. The other girls immediately focused on what might turn into drama. Everyone always loved drama.

"Oh no!" He wrenched his gaze from the sad man wearing a suit and bowtie in a bar where the only thing worth picking up was the women. He pointed his drink toward the bar and explained, "I was just wondering if one of you ladies wouldn't like to see what his problem is. Don't tell me you aren't curious."

"Him?" The black-haired one in the red dress grimaced eloquently. "He looks old!"

As the others agree, Crowley smirked and sipped his drink. Far be it from him to break their illusion and point out that he and that man were probably around the same age. He had the grace to be able to pull off a younger look mixed with dark lighting and alcohol.

"Come on. I'm curious. You can't be scared of him. He's in a bowtie! Next two drinks will be on me," he wheedles.

She was still frowning, but she was considering it.

"I'll do—" started the blonde to his left, and the black-haired woman got up quicker than he imagined in that dress. He was instantly jealous. There were gasps and snickers around him, but his eyes were locked on her as she sauntered to the bar and leaned over the counter.

The man may have been sad and attempting to get drunk, but he wasn't blind. He turned his head and Crowley got a glimpse of wide eyes as he took in the lady's presence. The slit in her dress went all the way up as far as it could before it showed anything. The man didn't look at it though.

Crowley chuckled as the women around him joined him in leaning toward the bar to pick up the conversation.

"You alone?" The woman — Charlene or Charlotte he thought — bent toward him, pressing a hand to his arm.

The man's whole arm twitched in alarm, eyes darting down to the press-on nails delicately denting his jacket. "Oh, uh, yes. Quite alone." His face crumbled then, frowning as he turned the glass in his hands. "My wife is in love with someone else."

He couldn't hear her tone, but he could sense the forced empathy from the expression on her face. "I'm sorry." Her legs shifted in a response that was heading toward flight.

"She just told me tonight. Obviously it came as a bit of a shock. We were just at the restaurant, enjoying a delicious meal, if I do say so myself, and she said she wanted—"

"—I hear my friends calling me. Sorry about your wife," she chirped, scampering away as if he were on fire. Crowley thought it was rude. By the shocked look on the man's face and the way he threw her a disgusted look, he obviously was.

As the man turned back to his drink, his eyes caught Crowley's face. Ducking his head, Crowley picked up the drink as the woman slid back into the seat next to him. "His wife left him."

Crowley tsked at the news, especially given how she'd barely listened to him. "Yeah? Sorry to hear." He flicked a glance back to the man who had turned his attention back to his drink. "Kinda sad."

"Kind of pathetic. Why did he come here? He's a downer." Raising her drink in the air, she pronounced to the room at large as she yelled, "We're here to party!" The rest of the girls, and some of the bar, joined in with a cheer.

Crowley raised a hand, laughing as he waved the waitress for drinks for the woman and a round for all her friends. He pressed close to the woman on his left, an arm slipping around his waist, falling back into his easy conversation with them. They were an entertaining distraction, just the kind he would need. He knew all of them were expecting something more, but for now the drinks were flowing. He wasn't going to worry about turning them down right now.

In fact, it was an hour and three drinks later — his drinks not the man's — before Crowley watched him get up and stumble to the restroom. Crowley could use some relief himself, and the woman to his left was getting a little too handsy.

Besides, he was still curious, even if he got the gist of why the man was alone and drinking at the bar. Sliding out from the table, he jumped as his ass was given a firm pat. She was definitely expecting something more. He'd have to do something about that.

Shoving open then restroom door with a hand, he sauntered to the urinal and unzipped his pants. Beside him, the man was doing the same, leaning toward the wall as he stared at it with a blank expression.

"Sorry about your wife," Crowley did not look over at the other man. There was proper male bathroom etiquette and not making contact with each other's eyes was important. He wasn't supposed to talk either, but breaking rules made life interesting. Honestly, he preferred the camaraderie he could get in a woman's restroom.

The man jerked toward him before he turned away. "Ah, uh, thanks?" He sounded uncertain, and it made Crowley smirk.

"Depressing to drink alone. Want to join me at my table," he offered.

There was a pause before the sound of a zipper filled the room. "No, thank you. Your table is quite full," he spat. He sounded so arrogant about it that Crowley turned to stare at him.

From a distance, the man hadn't been remarkable apart from his clothing, but this close he could see how full and rosy his lips were pushed out in that pout and his nose was curved in a way Crowley couldn't describe. His face was pleasant, even with the frown adorning it currently.

The man turned and washed his hands briskly.

"Ah, right, sor—" Crowley began.

"If you'll excuse me," he enunciated, turning to walk away.

Crowley guessed that was fair. A strange man talking to another man in a restroom was breaking protocol plus the man knew that he'd sent Charlotte — Charlene — to question him.

Maybe he should have approached him himself. 

He took some extra time making sure his hands were washed and dried before returning back to the bar. Sliding into his seat, he rejoined the remaining two women in laughter and more drinks. The others, he assumed, had found entertainment elsewhere.

At the bar, Aziraphale had moved on to a second drink. He'd tried engaging three more people only to be rebuffed every time. It was frustrating. He supposed in a place with thumping music and neon lights, he should have expected his mood wouldn't be appreciated.

Honestly though, he thought he was right to attempt to understand. Shadwell, of all people, had caught Tracy's...interest? Shadwell was a man who looked as if he hadn't seen a good razor in a decade and had even less sense to wear unrumpled clothing. He was loud and had stared at Aziraphale as if he were a puzzle he couldn't piece together, and— 

Aziraphale didn't want to remember, but he had made Tracy laugh.

Still…Shadwell?

Aziraphale did not glance over at the table where the man who had spoken to him in the bathroom was seated. That had been a strange exchange. He didn't know if men just randomly spoke to strangers to express sympathy like that while they used the restroom. He'd still had his sunglasses on too.

Turning in his seat, he opened his mouth to say the very same to a blonde next to him. "Shadwell, can you believe it," is what he blurted out instead. "Shadwell is absolutely horrid! How can she— How is he— He's nothing like me!"

He was quite drunk. He still had to walk home. He should probably stop drinking.

He didn't want to walk home. Tracy would be in bed, and he would have to quietly slip home. He wouldn't be able to sleep. He could take the couch, but Adam came down early in the morning.

He had to talk to him— 

"Psst. Hey!"

He turned as the noise broke through his inner monologue, blinking owlishly at the red-headed male gesturing to him from the table. The woman sitting next to him didn't look pleased and slipped away with a pout on her lips. The man didn't even glance at her.

Aziraphale placed a hand on his chest. "Me?"

The man managed to convey amusement and impatience as his nose scrunched up. "Yes, you!" His voice carried over the bar in bright tones. "Come here."

Aziraphale's feet met the floor, and he left his empty glass to wander toward the table. Standing there, his hands fidgeted in the air before settling on his waistcoat buttons. "Um…"

"Oh, sit down. I know the thing in the bathroom was awkward, but I don't bite. I wanted to apologize. Can I get you a drink?" A black-clad arm swung out, gesturing to the seat with a wave of impatience.

"I-I don't want a—" Aziraphale stuttered, sliding into the seat with an air of uncertainty.

"I'll get you a drink." The statement brooked no argument. "Name's Anthony Crowley, but please, call me Crowley. My first name is so boring!" He wrinkled his nose, grinning over at Aziraphale as if calling him by his last name broke all kinds of rules.

"Uh, yes. Aziraphale Fell." He flushed at how the sounds did not flow. "Just Aziraphale. You, um, you wanted to apologize? What for?" Skepticism crept into his tone as he eyed Crowley, who'd raised his hand to call over the waitress.

"Ah, well, I was curious what you were doing here so I asked, um, Charlene to go ask you. She was pretty rude, huh? I'm sorry about that." He paused to look at the waitress, flash her a smile, and then looked at Aziraphale. "You got a sweet tooth?"

"What?" Aziraphale fumbled at the conversation that seemed to glide from Crowley's lips. "Uh, well, yes actually. I love dessert."

"Wonderful! Give us both a White Russian?" The waitress nodded and left their table. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, continuing their conversation as if he hadn't stopped. "I shouldn't be prying into your business through another person.

"You just looked...out of place." Crowley was still smiling pleasantly as he spoke.

"Out of place," Aziraphale queried, raising a brow and tipping his nose into the air. "I certainly can be anywhere I please, thank you very much. Crowley," he added at the end.

"No! No, that wasn't what I meant." He ran a hand through his hair, teeth gritted as he slouched further in his seat. "I'm mucking this up. No, I meant that this is a bar for picking up women. Most people don't come here to, uh, mourn. It's fine you did, but you were like an apple with a bunch of oranges."

Blinking at the analogy, Aziraphale emphasized the words, "An apple among oranges," to highlight his confusion. 

"Yeah! Like, I come in and everywhere I look are oranges. I've had them before, picked them up, the smell is familiar, and then suddenly there's this bright red apple. If you saw that in a supermarket you'd want to pick it up or at least stare at it for a while. Some people would snap a picture and put it up on Instagram." His hands waved in the air as he spoke, and he moved them out of the way just in time for the drinks to be set in front of them.

"Insta— Is that one of those social things on the Internet?" Aziraphale's brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Yeah. Look, my point is, you stood out and it's a good thing. Seeing the same thing every night is boring, and you weren't boring."

"So my...mourning amuses you?"

"No! You're impossible!" Crowley's nose wrinkled as he frowned.

"My point still stands. I can be here if I wish." He brought his hands to his jacket and tugged it closer around him as he looked down his nose at Crowley. "Even if I weren't mourning, I'd be fine!"

"What? You're saying you'd come here to pick up a woman?" Crowley reached for his glass, taking a sip from the provided straw.

"Of course I could, but I'm a marr—" He bit at his lower lip, staring down at his own drink before picking it up. He took the straw out with a wrinkle of his nose and swallowed some down. "Oh!" Clasping a hand to his chest, he drew the glass back to stare with wide eyes. "That's delightful!"

"It is, isn't it?" Crowley's sunglasses bore into him, but whatever was in his gaze was hidden. "Why not try picking up a woman?" He held up a hand as Aziraphale began to splutter. "Not take a woman home! Just talk to them. You get her interested in holding a conversation, and I'll owe you one hundred pounds."

"One—" Aziraphale spluttered. "I certainly don't have that kind of money on me!"

"Then you'll owe me your time if you lose," Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale arched a brow doubtfully. "What will that entail?" He sat down his drink and looked around the room at the selection of mostly young women in low-cut dresses

Crowley's smirk widened. "It won't be anything difficult. We meet in the bar and talk."

"You're saying if I don't succeed in getting a woman to talk to me, I have to sit and talk to you?" The tone of his voice was still skeptical, and Crowley placed a hand to his chest in exaggerated affront.

"You wound me, but you're not going to lose, are you? You said you could chat up any lady here. Prove it." He waved a hand at the gathering. "Go on then."

Frowning at the aggravating mannerisms of the man that somehow bordered on rude even as apologies flowed freely from him, Aziraphale drained the last of his glass. Crowley's eyebrows rose, his smile still amused.

With a huff, Aziraphale stood, tugging on the bottom of his waistcoat before moving toward a brown-haired woman. Tapping on her shoulder so she turned around with a frown, he smiled. "H-hello. My name is Aziraphale. I wondered if we might talk."

The woman stared at him long enough that Aziraphale wondered if he'd accidentally spoken another language. Then she smiled softly and nodded. "Sure. What do you need?"

"Oh," he gasped, and then frowned. He wasn't supposed to be surprised she'd agreed. "I, um, I'm here because my wife left me. I wondered if you might like some company."

She arched a brow, lips curving up one side more than the other, and patted the stool next to her silently.

"Thank you," he stated, turning his head to shoot a smug smile at Crowley, who raised his glass upward. Sitting down, he turned back to the girl. "My name is Aziraphale."

"Ashley. So are you lonely, Aziraphale?" She turned to face him fully, a glass held between her hands.

"Hm? Actually I'm a little angry. We were just eating dinner when she sprang this on me. In a public space! She said otherwise I wouldn't have paid attention. The nerve. I always listen to her." Pausing with a frown, Aziraphale looked down at the counter. "And really, Shadwell? I've no idea where she got the idea that Shadwell was a decent human let alone that he was someone t-to like!"

"Ah, well…."

Aziraphale looked up to see the woman staring at him with wide eyes. "Oh, I am carrying on, aren't I? But it's so frustrating. Shadwell?"

"I just remembered I have to make a phone call." With a twist of her hips, she was getting up from her stool and heading for the bathroom.

Blinking, Aziraphale watched her leave and wondered when the world had become so rude. He'd been in the middle of talking! He did not look at Crowley as he turned and headed back to the table, sitting down and primly folding his hands in front of him.

"So?"

"So what? She had to use the restroom," he responded stiffly.

"Ah, yeah. Bad luck then. Want to give up and call it a draw?" The amused tone of Crowley's voice made Aziraphale look up. Crowley's mouth was stretched thin to prevent his smile.

Aziraphale pouted at him anyways. "What would a draw entail?"

Crowley finished his drink before speaking, a hand waving in the air. "Fifty pounds and you get to decide if you want to spend time with me." He beamed at Aziraphale.

Snorting, Aziraphale didn't see why time spent with Crowley was such a prize anyways. The man oozed arrogance and was rather flash. Wouldn't his time be spent better wooing women? "Fine. When does the time end?"

Crowley shrugged eloquently. "Whenever either of us gets bored." He pulled out his wallet and produced two twenties and a ten pound note, sliding them across the table. "Tell you what, I'll be here about every night on the weekends. If you come back, I'll know you want to do the time. If not, you don't. Won't bother me."

The nonchalance he said the words with was almost as offensive as every other thing Crowley said. "I'm quite sure it will!" He reached out to take the money, crumbling it in a wad into his pocket. "I will see you this weekend, Crowley." Standing, he stared into sunglasses. "And maybe you'll be polite and take off your sunglasses."

Tapping the top of his glasses, Crowley's smile only grew. "Sure thing, Aziraphale. See you this weekend. Don't forget to call for a ride home."

"I'm walking, thank you very much," he spat.

"Uh," Crowley began, but he was already turning and stalking out the door.

Crowley stared after him with a bemused smile and settled on finishing his last drink.

Even with the thought of sobering up for the drive home before closing time, he kept thinking back to Aziraphale's ridiculously adorable arrogance. He had no idea what their meeting would bring, but he knew it'd be the most interesting thing he'd done for years.

Maybe, just maybe, he might even make a friend out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notably, the bathroom scene was actually written in the transcript for the movie, but was never in the movie. I liked it! I also poked fun at the original saying drinking alcohol out of a straw was like sucking a tiny dick. Maybe Crowley likes that! :P Hope you all enjoyed! I break into a dearly needed smile at every comment and kudo!


	3. The Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief and heated exchange with Tracy, Aziraphale has to settle into what may become his new life. He also needs to meet Crowley, and now that he's sober with some time behind their first meeting, he doesn't think he'll enjoy it all. What will come of their second meeting, and can Crowley remember why exactly he thought this was a good idea?

Aziraphale was going to miss the topiaries. He hired someone else to sculpt them, but that didn't mean they didn't need to be pruned, shaped, and fertilized so he could watch them bloom each season. They stood in a beautifully sculpted array now, but he knew they wouldn't receive the same care they would if he were here.

He'd always wanted to make an elaborate maze of them in their backyard, but hadn't been able to agree on it. They both had agreed Adam might get lost in such a structure, even if Aziraphale had always imagined making a map to the center where a gazebo waited. Tracy teased him as being an old-fashioned romantic, but what did the modern world know of true romance? It was all either flowery fluff with little substance involved or filled with such high sexual tension that there was no room for actual friendship. Jane Austen had it right with the banter between two people who shared the same ideals, and he would always swoon reading one of her books.

"Aziraphale?"

He looked away from a topiary shaped like a pyramid with a round ball on top as Tracy crossed the yard toward him. She was smiling hesitantly. It shifted something inside him that was tender and sore to see her looking so cautious.

Lips pressing thin, he nodded to her. "Someone will need to come and trim the hedges." He could feel the chill in his own words.

She blinked with long fake lashes before looking at the delicate bush. "Oh, yes, of course. I'll make sure it's done."

"It has to be weekly, or it loses its shape," he insisted. His hands twisted in front of him before he slid them over his waistcoat and forced them to his side. He turned toward the moving van that had his stuff loaded into the back. It was mostly boxes of books, his clothing, and some items they had agreed meant more to him than to Tracy.

"Weekly then. Aziraphale," Tracy began, pausing to bite at her painted lip. "we need to talk."

Aziraphale's shoulders shifted upward and then back down. "Aren't you worried I won't listen," came bitterly from his mouth.

"That's...fair. Would you turn and listen now?" Tracy placed a hand on Aziraphale's shoulder.

Aziraphale stiffened, but he turned toward her, hands pressed together in front of him. "I really don't think our backyard is the best place for this discussion."

"Well," Tracy muttered, "we can at least start here. Beginnings are good and well in backyards, right?" She smiled at him.

He didn't feel like smiling back. His chest ached alongside his head, and he was tired and confused after a decidedly rough week. He did relax under her touch though. "Yes. I suppose they are. May I say something then?"

Hand slipping from his shoulder, Tracy nodded, watching him with the same patient attention she always had. "Of course you can."

"Did I do something wrong? I must have. Did I really not listen? Did I not pay enough attention? I know I get lost in books. I forget our plans. Sometimes I ignore Adam. I've tried to be a good father and partner—"

"Please," Tracy broke in, hands up to fend off the torrent of words. She was still smiling at him, but her eyes were wet. "Oh, Aziraphale, it's not you."

"Right," he deadpanned. "And I suppose next you'll tell me it's you. We're not children, Tracy! I can surely handle some criticisms!"

She raised an eyebrow as red as her hair and a fond smile replaced her concerned frown. "You take criticism of yourself as well as you take it of a beloved book. It is not you. It's not me either if it makes you feel better." She laced her hands together, her multitude of rings glistening in the sun. "It's Shadwell. We've known each other for a long time. Something just sparked."

"Just sparked?" His lips pressed tight and he rolled his shoulders back. “I don’t— What does that even mean?” He wrinkled his nose.

“I’m not sure I could explain it. Do you remember when we met? How easy it was to talk to each other? How we could sit in silence for hours on end, each doing our own thing and feel content? It was like that with him...but different." She smiled.

"Different?" He wanted the spit out the word, but he softened it. Honestly, he was just so tired. He still had no idea what was happening with Adam. He was terrified to ask. He couldn't even speak to him. He still didn't understand enough.

He didn't know if he was willing to listen either.

“Shadwell made me feel, Aziraphale. We’ve always been very sensible people, you and I. We never...felt that way about each other, and we always just knew.” She straightened then, squeezing her hand around his arm before letting it go. “I know it is selfish of me. I know, but I know. I know what I feel, and it feels good.”

He wasn't willing to listen. He did not understand. He had too much to do and a meeting with Crowley to see to. He had to go to his apartment, unload the moving van he'd rented, and then go to the bar. He wasn't looking forward to any of it.

"I need to go."

"Aziraphale—"

"No. Tracy, please. I need to go. This is— It's all too much, and I have an apartment to see to. I'll come back on Sunday to pick up Adam. I just...need more time."

"Okay." Tracy sighed, glancing at the moving truck that was packed. "I wish—"

Aziraphale turned on his heels. "I wish for a lot of things, Tracy, but wishes do nothing." He knew he'd said that with all the rage he still felt brimming inside him. He knew it probably hurt her, but he didn't turn as he climbed into the truck.

The driver was stiff in his seat, obviously trying to ignore their discussion. He turned the key in its ignition, filling the small cab with a rumbling echo.

"Do you...need help backing up the truck?"

"No. He's quite fine, thank you." He knew he was being petty, but it felt good, and he didn't care.

The driver was still tense as he looked in both mirrors and began to back the truck from the driveway, threading between the azalea bushes and fencing.

"Oh, watch—"

The warning came too late as the crunch of wood under back tires rose above the engine's rumble. Aziraphale looked in the side mirror to see the fence caught under the back tire, part of it broken off.

"Are you okay," came Tracy's voice from the driver's side.

Aziraphale turned to nod at her, a frown on his face. "I'm fine. It's just—" The driver was giving him a panicked look, and he sighed. "It's okay," he said softer. "I won't report you or anything or make your company pay for it." Then he spoke again to Tracy. "I'll hire someone to fix it."

"But—"

"I'll take care of it. I can still do that, can't I?"

The driver and Tracy winced. Mutely, Tracy nodded.

Flicking a hand and closing his eyes, he shook his head. "Please, take me to my apartment."

The driver was as silent as he'd been this entire time as he pulled into the driveway and then back out again without incident.

Luckily, it didn't take long to get to his apartment. He was in a foul mood, he knew, and he understood why. It was possible the driver did as well, but still, he attempted to keep conversation light and make up for his earlier snapping.

With the mover helping, it didn't take long to unpack the truck and set it all into the living room. He gave the driver a hefty tip and then set about placing boxes in their respective rooms. It was arduous work, but it reminded him of moving books in his shop, so it was partially enjoyable. As long as he didn't think about the difference in context he was fine.

It was when he shifted boxes into what would become his bedroom that he was reminded he didn't have any beds.

"Oh...blast it all!" He sat down a box too hard and placed his hands on his hips, pouting. It was one more thing on an ever-growing pile of things that needed doing. Frankly, it was just too much.

He didn't want to go get beds today. He had so much left to unpack.

He was alone.

He made it back to the living room and sank onto the couch. The cushions immediately sucked him in, but it was comfortable. He could sleep out here tonight. It wouldn't hurt. Tomorrow he could get the beds and worry about unpacking more. Tonight he could unpack necessities.

He still had to meet with Crowley too. Rubbing his face with his hands, he decided that was quite enough moping.

Glancing at his pocket watch, he had about a half an hour before the walk to the bar meant he'd be late. He at least wanted to arrive early enough to prepare himself mentally. He hadn't been this stressed since moving into his college dorm, and that wasn't even counting the added...things. He was already fiddling with his buttons again as his thoughts slipped back into his current situation.

He would go to the bar to meet up with Crowley now. That would give him a least a half hour to relax with a drink before Crowley showed up. Then he would spend a bit of time with Crowley, just to hold up his end of the bargain, and beg to leave because he had so much to do. Crowley would have to be a vile person indeed to not be sympathetic.

With plans made, Aziraphale stood, making sure he had everything he needed for the trip out. Then he locked up his new living space — he couldn't call it a home so soon — and headed for the bar.

It took longer to get there than it had the first time. He entered the neon-lit place to see that it was devoid of many of the patrons that had been there a week before. It was early yet, and he was glad he was meeting Crowley in a setting that didn't feel so uncomfortable.

Sliding onto a barstool, Aziraphale smiled at a different bartender, ordering a gin and tonic. He wanted to start simple. Then he sat with the drink between his hands, waiting for that familiar redhead with glasses to arrive.

Crowley pushed open the door an hour later. He’d intended to be early, but the possibility of Aziraphale not being there made him delay until the last possible minute. Traffic had done the rest.

He immediately spied Aziraphale at the bar, an empty glass between his hands as he stared straight ahead at the rows of bottles in front of him.

He looked small, though he still wore the same ensemble, a four or five piece suit that was well-worn with a bow tie. There was something about Aziraphale that made it look good on him, even if he still looked out of place in a neon-lit bar.

He slipped up beside Aziraphale, smiling as brightly as possible. "Didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?"

Aziraphale started in his seat, turning to squint and then gave him an disapproving frown. "No. No, I came early. I'm afraid I can't stay long…." He trails off and has the decency to look abashed.

"Ah," Crowley answered, sitting down on the stool next to him and motioning to the bartender for just a beer on tap. No need to hit the heavy drinks this early, especially since he wouldn't be staying that long. He refused to give the sting he felt any merit considering how he'd hooked Aziraphale into this meeting. "Left your stove on?"

"What?" The bewilderment replacing the dismayed expression on his face was a better look. "No! I don't…. Why would I— You're teasing me." There was a pout now.

The pout was adorable. "I am. Sorry." His grin said he wasn't really that sorry. "But seriously, you can tell me if you don't want to do this. I don't want you to have a horrible time. I just thought…."

Aziraphale tacked onto the end as he trailed off. "You just thought you could teach me how to pick up women?"

Crowley felt his eyebrows reach his hairline and then barked out a laugh. "What? No! Why would I do that? Wait...why do you think I come here anyways?"

He could hear the curl of Aziraphale lips in his tone. “I imagine to pick up virile young ladies to take home.”

"Pffft," he stated. "Virile? Really? You know no one says that, right?"

"At any rate, I would only get in your way. It's smart if I leave you to your…." Here Aziraphale paused to wriggle the fingers of one hand in the air.

Crowley held up a hand and wriggled his fingers back. "Leave me to my trying to make friends?"

"What?"

That bewilderment really was priceless. Crowley thought it was because Aziraphale had the air of a man who was always self-assured and cocky. Why was Crowley doing this? "I come here to try and make friends. Not the best place for it, but where else am I going to do it? The gym? You go to a local bar to make friends."

"Well, yes, you do have a point—"

"So last night was a desperate bid to make a friend."

"Desperate?" Aziraphale leaned back in offense.

Taking the bottle placed in front of him, Crowley took a drink and sighed. "I didn't mean you were the desperate part. I meant I was." He smiled again. He could start this over. He could attack it from a different angle. "Maybe you're right and we aren't exactly the kind to become friends—"

"--I never said that—"

"--but maybe we could try it. What say an hour of your time and if we end up hating each other, we call it quits?"

Aziraphale paused for a long moment, turning to stare down into his glass and run his fingers over the rim of it. "I can't imagine why you'd be desperate. You had— It seems like," he hedged, "you have a talent for getting many friends."

"You mean the girls?" Crowley smiled, took another drink of his beer, and sighed. "Yeah, no, most people want a quick shag, right? That can be all well and good sometimes, but not like that. Think I'm getting too old for random flings in bars. Women fighting for my attention isn't my thing. Last week I wanted a friend. I woke up this morning and that hadn't changed."

Aziraphale's lips twisted. "Did you take pity on me?"

"You were a sad sight last night." As Aziraphale turned a menacing glare on him, he leaned back in his seat, chuckling and holding up his hands to show surrender. "But it wasn't pity. I really did think 'well, he looks interesting'."

A smile tugged at the corners of Aziraphale's lips. "I suppose we could spend some time together. One hour?" He was still smiling but he somehow managed to convey a tone of endured hardship. 

Crowley smirked. "One hour." He lifted up his bottle toward Aziraphale and it was met with the clink of his empty glass.

"Good then. I have an apartment to get ready."

"Oh, you've moved then? I mean, of course you have, but just now?"

"Yes. I have a bunch of boxes, and I want to at least get the essentials out of the way."

"You—" Crowley slapped a hand down on the counter, eliciting a gasp from Aziraphale who clutched at his chest and glared at him. His bowtie was pretty cute, wasn't it? "If you needed to leave to unpack you could've said. I wouldn't have been angry about that!"

"Well, I don't know you well enough to say what you would and wouldn't have been angry at, Crowley."

He was pleased Aziraphale remembered to call him by his last name. "Fair. Still…. You got stuff in your apartment? I mean, if you just moved in. Can't imagine you...sleeping on— Well, you got stuff, right?"

“Yes, I do. I managed to get a furnished apartment. It only lacks a bed, but the sofa will do nicely for tonight. Maybe for several nights.” He frowned, staring into his drink as if deep in thought.

Crowley frowned as well. He didn’t think furnished apartments needed anything but clean furniture, and he was sure this one would have that, but sofas were no good to sleep on for several days. “Want to go get one?”

Aziraphale’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Do you want to go get you a bed real quick? It’s still early. We can get one of those,” he grimaced, lips twisting upwards, “boxes from Ikea so it’d fit in my car. I mean, since you don’t have a vehicle. Less pain, less money….”

“You don’t have to do all that! We’re supposed to be hanging out for your sake, Crowley. I certainly couldn’t ask—”

“For my sake, yeah? I’d like to make sure you get a bed. Even help you put it together unless that's too intrusive or something. For my sake. It’s not weird to hear someone’s going to sleep on a sofa and be like ‘not on my watch’, is it?” He paused to mull that over. “Guess it is, but weird’s my middle name.”

Aziraphale was smiling at him now. “Anthony Weird Crowley?”

“Don’t wear it out!”

Aziraphale laughed. "I won't." He sighed and stared at Crowley. "You don't…. Forgive me for saying this. I don't mean anything offensive by it, but you don't look like the kind of person that would be so nice. I warn you, if you try to mug me at my apartment, I have nothing that would be valuable to you. Unless you like tea seats and clothes."

Leaning back in his seat again, Crowley grinned. "I might like tea seats and clothes, but I've got those at home. How about we pick up some mace for you on the way. If I try to rob you, just squirt it in my eyes."

"With your sunglasses on?"

"Ah, you saw through my clever ruse." He lifted the bottle up, proud of the second laughter he'd managed from Aziraphale as he emptied the beer. "Come on. I'll show you my car so you can gawk for a bit before we head to Ikea."

"Gawk? At your car?"

Crowley lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "Everyone does." He didn't explain further, just laid money down on the counter and sauntered out the door, pulling the keys to his car from his pocket to swing them around.

He felt much better than he had when Aziraphale and he had been sniping at each other. There had been something satisfying at beating down his reservations. Now they were going to an Ikea to pick up a bed and then make it. Why was Crowley doing this?

They turned the corner of the sidewalk in front of the bar to the parking lot on the side. Crowley walked straight ahead, turning so he could glance at Aziraphale with a smirk. As expected, Aziraphale gawked.

"Why this is...this is…."

"A 1933 Bentley. It was a pet project when I moved here."

Aziraphale moved to the car, stretching out a hand reverently. He glanced at Crowley as if asking for permission. Nodding his head, Crowley smiled softly, moving around to the passenger side to unlock and open the door.

His eyes were caught on Aziraphale's hand, sliding over the black, shiny chrome like a caress. Swallowing, he was glad his glasses hid where his eyes were as he tilted his head downward. "Here we are. Say, you know how to get in and out of Ikea faster, right?"

Aziraphale's eyes went round as he skirted around the rear bumper and paused at the opened passenger door. He seemed to weigh both the question and the opened door with Crowley's hand still on it. "Don't you have to go through that horrid maze?"

"Nah." Aziraphale finally moved, slipping into the seat and adjusting himself with a little wiggle. Crowley closed the door with a grin, trotted around to the driver's side, and climbed in. He turned the key in the ignition before he explained. "There's a trick to avoiding the maze."

"There is?" He did sound shocked now. "Is it legal?"

Crowley barked a laugh, turning out of the parking lot and onto the road at a speed that was higher than the limit. "Yeah." He paused a beat and then continued. "Would you still do it if it were illegal?"

He wasn't looking at Aziraphale, so he missed whatever expression he had on his face as he paused. "Maybe. Would we get caught?"

Crowley laughed again. He liked Aziraphale, he was reminded. He'd liked him that night at the bar, and he liked him now. That was why Crowley was doing this.

"How about I won't drag you into anything where it's illegal and we get caught."

"That seems a fair deal."

When they had parked in a space in the always crowded lot of Ikea, Crowley led them to where the door indicated it was an exit. He started heading right for it.

Aziraphale, beside him, wrung his hands together. "This is certainly legal, but won't someone stop us?"

"Nah. They don't get paid enough for it. Besides, if they say anything, we say we're going to customer service."

"We'd lie?"

Glancing at Aziraphale, he grinned. "Wouldn't have to. We'd ask where the beds you want are in the warehouse."

"Oh…"

"See? It's a loophole in the system. They want you to go through the whole maze, but you don't have to if they put the customer service at the exit, right?"

Aziraphale nodded as they walked through the door. They were largely ignored as they walked past the cash registers and into the warehouse with the boxed items. "I suppose it is 'sticking it to the man', isn't it?"

"Hah! Exactly! What's the man ever done for us?"

"Made me pay taxes for my shop," Aziraphale replied bitterly.

"Exactly," Crowley repeated. "So you take the little jabs at them you can. Harmless really, but still sticking it to them. Just like you said. Now what kind of bed do you need?" He pulled out his phone, preparing to search through the beds.

"Actually— Ah, I should have said something. I'll actually just need a bed...for my son?"

Crowley's head snapped up so hard his glasses slipped down his nose. He reached to push them up, aware of curious eyes on him, and tried to act like he hadn't just been shocked by that. "Have a kid?"

"Yes. We adopted him. His name is Adam. He's seventeen."

"Graduating soon? Going to college?" He was the epitome of nonchalant. "We can't just get one bed if there are two of you. You'll need a place to sleep too."

"Uh, y-yes. I mean, yes he's going to college, so he'll continue for another year to prepare." Aziraphale face creased with a frown. "You don't need to go through all this trouble, Crowley."

"We're already here getting a frame and mattress. What's the trouble with getting two? Can just double it up, right?"

He felt like a master of temptation as the lines on Aziraphale's face relaxed. "I suppose so. I feel like I owe you."

"How about dinner then?"

"Dinner?" There was an alarmed tone to Aziraphale's voice and his eyes were wide.

That had sounded forward of him.... "I mean order in something. Chinese? I know a good restaurant."

"Oh! Of course. Yes, that's a good idea."

Nodding, Crowley brought the conversation back to the best bed to buy on a budget, grabbing a cart and leading them down several aisles. Within moments, they were at the checkout. Crowley did not offer to pay, that was a step too far, and he allowed Aziraphale to help him get the mattresses on top of the Bentley, tied securely down, and the boxes inside the back.

With directions from Aziraphale, they were soon driving to his apartment, and as Crowley cracked a joke that made Aziraphale laugh loudly, he reminded himself that this was exactly why he was doing this. He didn't think he was the only one here who might need a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm thankfully almost caught up with where I was before I lost my HD. That means weekly updates are more than possible at this point. Next chapter should be a happy and fluffy bit where they get to know each other more! From here, things become a little more deviated from the show, though I made sure to give the original script a good head-nod.


	4. The Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley must construct beds together, but this isn't a story about building beds. It's a story about building connections. What kind of construction can occur between two people seeking friendship?

Aziraphale fretted with the key at the door. It was newly cut, he told himself, and that's why he had to jiggle it in the handle before the door unlocked. "Ah," he chuckled shakily as he swung open the door, "there we go."

Aziraphale turned with a flourish to see Crowley leaning against a nearby post with one hip. He paused to watch Crowley shift so his hip levered him off the post as he sauntered past. How did he not dislocate something moving like that?

"Uh, it's a mess. Boxes," he began.

"It's fine. Didn't come for—" Crowley turned and walked backwards, which was dangerous. He stopped before bumping into a pile of boxes though. "Let's clear a bit so he can get the boxes and mattresses in?"

Aziraphale smiled. "Yes. Then I can get us some water. I only have that and wine, I'm afraid."

"Wine, you say?" Crowley grinned rakishly. "Wine sounds fine for after we're done...to go with dinner."

"It does!" Aziraphale moved to the bedroom doors. He stopped at the little hallway and turned to gauge what boxes were best to move. Crowley stood opposite him and then grabbed some boxes, lifting them and placing them gently to the side.

Aziraphale was pleased to see him handle his items with such consideration.

Stepping forward, he began to grab boxes as well, setting them aside so there was a clear path for however they'd have to angle the boxes and mattresses to get them into their bedrooms. The work went by quickly with help, and Aziraphale felt a sense of ease at the silent camaraderie he hadn't felt since this whole disaster had begun.

"There. Easy enough. I say we take in the boxes, put them in the rooms, and then get to constructing. You ever constructed an Ikea anything before?" Crowley stood back, inspecting their work with a grin.

Crowley's smile was infectious. Aziraphale smiled back as he walked toward him and then out the door. "No. When I was younger and putting together furniture it was pretty simple. You nail or screw pieces of wood together."

Following him, Crowley opened the door of the Bentley and snickered at the euphemisms. "Sorry." He turned his glasses toward him as he reached in and heaved out one of the boxes. "I'm a child."

"Oh, for— Of course I didn't— You're incorrigible!"

Laughing, Crowley pushed the end of the box toward Aziraphale. "I really am. Hopefully I don't corrupt you with my evil influence." He lifted the other end as Aziraphale hefted the weight of his half upward with ease. The box jerked in his hands and he turned attention back to Crowley. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Fine." Crowley cleared his throat, eyebrows high on his forehead.

Aziraphale had no idea what the issue was. Maybe the box was heavy for Crowley. He was lanky. "And I'll have you know I've read far raunchier things in books."

"Yeah? You buy the porno magazines for the stories then?"

He felt his face heat up. "No! Goodness…. There are plenty of classics that have sex scenes in them." He couldn't believe he was explaining it to Crowley. He hated the mischievous grin on his face.

"Fair enough. I remember reading Lysistrata in secondary school. Wasn't assigned reading, but thought it would be okay for a book report."

"It mostly certainly isn't!"

"Yeah, I found out quick. Luckily not even the teacher had read it, so I just fibbed on some of the context."

"You didn't!"

"Fib on a school report? All the time." He angled the box in preparation to get it into the doorway. "Are you going to arrest me?"

"You'd probably like that," he muttered. He couldn't tell if Crowley had heard him. He hadn't stopped grinning. "Of course I won't! You did the work anyways, and the librarian shouldn't have let you check it out."

"Ah, we were chummy. She didn't care. Probably thought I'd read worse...like you."

He tipped his box the same direction as Crowely and stepped backwards into the house, scowling. He couldn't say he was wrong, could he? "Hah, hah. Did you go to university?"

"Nah. Went right out into the world. I was riding high on adventuring in the city. I had my parents' money, and I started in the business world with shining eyes and pure dumb luck."

"Did it run out?" He scooted backwards, turned his head to avoid the hallway's wall, and when he turned back around, Crowley's mouth was twisted. "Ah, I meant your luck, but that— That was a pretty rude question, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't rude. Most people just…." He couldn't use his hands, so he shrugged his shoulders. "Most people don't figure it out. City boy and suddenly living in Tadfield."

"I do read a lot." He grunted as he sat the box on the floor of Adam's bedroom.

Crowley bent to release his own end and stayed crouched, laughing. "You read a lot? That's how you figured it out?"

Aziraphale stepped around the box and stood over Crowley, staring down at him pensively. "I didn't mean that being here in Tadfield was bad luck, I meant having the time of your life with your friend without a care of finances would eventually lead to—." He didn't think he had to expound on that.

Aziraphale smiled and offered his hand out to Crowley. Crowley leaned back, glasses directed at him. His expression was inscrutable. There was a silent moment that hung in the air between them, and then he slipped his hand into Aziraphale's.

Crowley's hand was warm, the palm a little sweaty, but his grip was firm as Aziraphale pulled him upwards. Crowley ended up closer than he would have thought, so Aziraphale heard his breath hitch in his throat. Had he hurt—?

"Well, let's go get the next box."

Turning on his heels so fast it was audible, Crowley hurried out of the room, Aziraphale trailing behind him.

He didn't know if he should remind Crowley that he hadn't gotten an answer, but as Crowley bent over to get the last box, his voice carried back. "I was a hedge fund manager. Worked out of Mayfair."

Aziraphale took the other end of the box as it was pushed toward him, waited until Crowley had his end steady in his hands, and began the repeated trek backwards. "Oh? That sounds fancy. It sounds like good money as well. Are you doing that job here then?"

"No. Can't. You have to be where the center of the action is. Thing is, the action is not all its cut out to be. It's like being in a fancy ballroom with a chandelier sparkling in your eyes. Spend too long dancing and you end up blind."

Aziraphale only turned to make sure he didn't trip. His wide eyes didn't want to leave Crowley's face and the little frown on his lips. "That's...a descriptive analogy. So you moved here so you could see again?"

His lips turned upwards. "Yeah. Yeah, I moved to Tadfield to see again. I got a floral shop, rebuilt the Bentley from a scrap heap, and try to have a social life."

Laughing, Aziraphale guided them toward his room. "That definitely doesn't sound unlucky."

"Well, I did find you."

He tripped. There was nothing there to trip over, but his feet stumbled all the same. Luckily, he was able to keep the box aloft, catch his balance, and set it down. "I think I can get drinks while you open the boxes!"

He had the decency to feel ashamed as he rushed past Crowley and into the kitchen, feeling Crowley's stare on him until he was out of sight. Leaning against the counter, Aziraphale stared into the sink and reminded himself to breathe.

More than once now, Crowley had said something that made Aziraphale's heart jump into his throat. He wasn't prepared for it. It was such an old and forgotten experience. Honestly had he ever experienced it truly?

The worst thing was, Crowley had said several times he was looking for a friend. He was rakish and charming, yes, but he was not...that way. He wasn't the way Aziraphale was. Aziraphale was not going to start thinking he might be. He definitely wouldn't do that without more confirmation.

He really shouldn't be looking for confirmation. He couldn't kid himself though. He would be.

What he had to do immediately was not rush out of rooms and trip over himself and stutter. Crowley was a good thing for him. He knew that. He felt— He hadn't even thought about how depressing this all should be. Instead, he was laughing, having fun—

"You okay?"

The voice calling to him sounded concerned, and he smiled at his own foolishness, straightened, and grabbed two glasses, filling them with ice and water. "Yes," he called back.

Walking back into his bedroom, he smiled and handed Crowley the other glass. "Sorry about that. "I, um, I had a thought. I wanted to—" He sighed. "I needed to just take myself away from it. I'm okay now."

The smile on Crowley's face was worth the half-truth even if it cut so close to the reality it burned. He would never burden Crowley with something that was wholly on himself. He'd never burdened anyone with that.

"Well...good," Crowley responded simply and sincerely. "Thanks." Fingers slid over his as Crowley took it. "I got one box opened." Crowley gestured with his free hand to the opened box lined with wooden slats and a little bag of parts with printed instructions.

Aziraphale swallowed and took a drink of his water, cramming the remnants of whatever he'd dealt with in the kitchen down. "Good! Are the instructions complicated?"

Chuckling, Crowley bent toward the box, coming back up with the instructions in hand. "Not really? Some people think so. Putting a car back together is harder."

That was a very good point. "That's a very good point," he vocalized. "Um, where do we start?"

"I like to read over the instructions first, put the pieces in order— Hey, can you hold onto the small pieces and hand them to me when I need them? The screws and stuff. I always lose track of them. Sometimes the tools too."

"I do that when Christmas wrapping!"

"Every year!"

They both laughed together before Crowley folded himself smoothly to the floor, sitting cross-legged. Aziraphale envied his ease as he took more time getting to the ground, awkwardly using a hand to hold himself steady as he sat down.

He looked up to a soft smile at the edges of Crowley's lips, his hand holding the bag of small items foro Aziraphale. He took the bag, opening it as Crowley bent over the paper. His fingers pushed around screws just to feel their textures against his skin.

"Shit."

He looked up in alarm to see the glasses whipped off, folded and placed in his breast pocket. "Are...are you okay?" He didn't hide his curious stare.

Two perfectly normal brown eyes looked back at him over a smirk. "Yeah. Sorry. I can't read with the glasses on." Crowley slapped the paper with one hand and then turned back to reading it.

Aziraphale was not the kind of person to ask questions, but he was insanely curious. He wanted very much to ask why Crowely needed the sunglasses. Maybe he didn't need them though. Maybe it was part of his overall style.

He'd taken them off, though, right in Aziraphale's bedroom. Did this mean something? He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Uh, so, um, I can talk to you while you work?"

"Huh?" Those eyes looked over at him again, and that was the main reason Aziraphale had spoken. He hadn't expected brown eyes. Maybe green or blue, but not brown. "Yeah. I mean, I'm done reading this thing."

Crowley blinked, and then tilted his head, considering the naked curiosity on Aziraphale's face. He decided he wasn't ready to tell Aziraphale why he wore the glasses. He would. He knew he would if they continued this friendship. For now though he wanted to focus on these beds and not a potentially awkward conversation. 

Putting the paper down, Crowley began to pull out pieces of wood, setting the pieces aside based on the order they came in the instructions. He could hear the pieces moving around the bag where Aziraphale shifted them around.

He usually had those parts ordered as well, but he wasn't going to fuss over it. Just because he was an ordered neat-freak didn't mean Aziraphale had to be. He definitely didn't need Crowley fretting over it with everything else piled on top of him.

He hadn't asked why Aziraphale had to leave the room earlier, but he could guess. How hard was it to be married to someone, have them say it was over, mention someone named Shadwell, and then be suddenly all alone in a small apartment with a kid? It had to hit Aziraphale every once in a while.

He understood having to uproot an entire life, but Crowley had made a conscious choice to do it.

"Uh, so...I am curious, I guess. Do you go to that bar often seeking, um, friends?"

When he glanced over, Aziraphale's fingers weren't just shifting through the screws, they were rubbing them together. He'd noticed Aziraphale did that a lot. He presumed it was a nervous tic, but he didn't want to call attention to it. Aziraphale had been nice enough not to ask about the sunglasses.

"No. I mean, it's not the only bar I go to. There's another I sometimes hit up. It's just out of tow. You've probably never heard of it." He forced his gaze away from Aziraphale.

"Oh, no worries there. I've not heard of many bars at all. There's a couple coffee shops I go to with a good book. Mostly I just enjoy reading at...at home."

He did turn his gaze toward Aziraphale now. "This is a nice place to read," he offered.

Aziraphale smiled and nodded. "I suppose it is. You said you had a floral shop?"

"Yeah, it's just a little shop. I drive to places to do weddings sometimes, but it's mostly local." He held up a wooden slat and squinted at where the holes were. "Gonna need the long screws. The longest ones in the bag."

He turned his head to see Aziraphale rummaging in the bag with a frantic air that was— Adorable. He was adorable. "Ah, here!" He held up the screw with a triumphant grin.

Crowley neatly plucked it from his hand. "Perfect! I'll need three more of those for now." He left Aziraphale to sort that out, turning to place the wood down, grab for the screwdriver, and pull the wooden slat that would be attached to this one closer. "You know, a nice potted plant would look good in your kitchen window. I've got some easy ones like jade. Doesn't need much sun, much water. It's a good plant. It doesn't complain much."

"Do you listen to your plants complaining often?"

The amusement in Aziraphale's voice Crowley leveled with a serious stare. "Yes, actually. Plants are great communicators if you know what to look for. I even sell aquatic plants. They're good at telling you when something's wrong before fish get sick. Plants can do the same.

"Some plants will clean up stuff in your home you don't even know about. Put english ivy in your bathroom and you won't have shit floating through the air." He waved his screwdriver to show the direction shit traveled. "Literally."

"Oh, that's quite—"

"Benzene, formaldehyde, and all kinds of other toxins. Spider plants help with carbon monoxide." He took the screws from Aziraphale's hand and ignored the thoughtful expression on his face. "I know a lot about plants."

"You do. It's quite fascinating. Do you know— I mean, would you happen to know about flower language as well?"

He stilled for a moment as he considered showing off his knowledge, and then shrugged. "Some, yeah. Most people don't go for that nowadays."

"I do! It's so fascinating, the ways people used to communicate. They used flowers of all things!"

Crowley turned again, just to see the expression that went with that bright tone. He wasn't disappointed. Aziraphale's grin was wide and his eyes bright. "Guess you're right. It is. Some people come in asking for certain flowers for a funeral or as a bouquet. Most don't care."

"Well, I would care!"

There was that flash of snobbery again, and Crowley grinned. "I bet you would," he agreed. "We should do that. We should visit each other's shops. I mean, call ahead first. If only because sometimes things get busy."

"Or you're chasing customers out of your shop," came Aziraphale's bitter response.

"What?" Crowley laughed. "You chase them out of your shop? What for?"

"For trying to buy my books and clearly having no idea of their worth! These are classics! They need care and attention. Why, I've seen them pick up a book and open it flat!"

"Flat? How dare!"

Aziraphale grimaced at Crowley's teasing look. "It cracks the spine!"

"I've no doubt. I guess I can understand. There's repeat customers that come in. They actually tell me they've killed plants. I try giving them tips but...I recommend they get a fake houseplant." Crowley smirks. "They yell a lot."

"Do they also swear to get authorities involved?"

Laughing, Crowley fit two more pieces together. "Oh yeah!" He tilted his head so he could make sure to screw it in place right. He didn't want to strip it. "I usually get into it with them then, following them out to the street screaming as loud as they do."

"I've thrown a mug at a customer once."

"Really?" Crowley turns to look at him, grinning at the story sure to come from this.

"Yes." There went that nose up in the air, those lips pressed thin. "He had some rather rude words on Oscar Wilde. The man had plenty of flaws, but I do rather adore him."

He'd stopped working entirely to listen, neck craned around so far he could feel the pull. "Huh. Wasn't he—" He paused, rethought his words, and began again. "—punished for being gay?" ...so much for rethinking.

Aziraphale's expression slipped. It smoothed out quickly, but Crowley noticed it. "Ah, uh, yes. Yes he was." Then he went quiet.

There could be a number of reasons that Aziraphale didn't want to talk about it. Crowley knew from experience that the uncertainty alone of another person's opinion was enough to keep his own mouth shut. "Well, it sucked. The whole thing. He didn't do anything wrong."

There was deafening silence as he turned away. That was okay. He just hoped it didn't mean Aziraphale was going to change the way he acted around him. "I'm going to need the other kinds of screws. Should have flatter heads." Crowley held out a hand and didn't look over, giving Aziraphale time to collect himself. 

He heard the rustle of the bag and then felt cool metal dropped into his palm. "Do you need more," Aziraphale asked, his tone wavering.

"Three more, yeah. After this, we can order the food, and then get Adam's bed worked on. Then the mattresses. Then we can eat." He closed his hand as he felt the others drop in.

"That sounds perfectly wonderful."

He heard the tension release in Aziraphale's voice, so he turned and flashed him a smile. "Does, doesn't it? I bet the wine is going to be worth it after all this work."

"Oh, I'm hardly doing anything."

"Would you like to?"

"Wh-what?" Aziraphale's eyes went round. "I mean, yes, but you're almost done here."

Crowley smiled at him, feeling how soft it was. It matched the warmth in his breast. "I meant your son's bed."

"Ah, of course." Aziraphale ducked his head, as if he were suddenly shy. Crowley doubted he had a shy bone in his body, but it was endearing. "Yes, I'd love to do that."

"Good!" He turned back around, the silence companionable now as he finished up the bed. The only noises were ones he made requesting more parts.

Within moments, they were finished. Crowley stood, wiping off his pants as if they were dirty. They weren't. It was just a move to build up his courage before he stepped towards Aziraphale and held out his hand to help him up.

He thought he understood why Aziraphale hesitated. He was a slim man, but he planted his feet, bent his knees, and when Aziraphale's hand met his own, he helped bring him to his feet, providing a counterbalance. So what if he felt a hint of pride when Aziraphale smiled at him?

"Thank you, my dear."

He felt his heart skip several beats, his eyes widening before he clamped his lips shut. "Uh, er, yeah." He bent over to pick up his and Aziraphale's water and drank from his own glass as Aziraphale took back his.

When Aziraphale led them to his son's room, he followed.

They sat down in opposite positions now, Aziraphale in front of the opened box and Crowley to the side. He took the bag of supplies and began to pull them out and sort them as Aziraphale read the manual. He did feel Aziraphale stare at him for a moment, but when he looked up, Aziraphale was nose deep in the instructions, his rosy lips silently mouthing the words.

For a moment, Crowley imagined him doing this while seated in a chair, looking as engrossed and quiet as he did now. He liked that image.

When Aziraphale was ready, he put down the paper nearby so he could still see it and began to pull out pieces. Unlike what Crowley had done, he pulled out slabs of wood when he needed them, reached for the pieces Crowley had ready, and put them together.

Crowley barely needed to guide him. He clearly understood the process and had, perhaps, watched Crowley as well. Then he was done. Crowley had enjoyed the time he spent watching Aziraphale, and he certainly didn't mind the silence as Aziraphale concentrated.

Leaning back, Aziraphale patted on his legs and grinned. "Well, I believe that's done."

Groaning, Crowley uncurled from the floor and stood, stretching his toes and wincing. "Looks great!"

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Sat funny for too long."

Aziraphale used the bed to get up this time. The bed didn't even dare to creak a protest if it knew what was good for it!

He was silently threatening beds. He was probably in trouble.

"I forgot to order the food!"

The dismayed cry made him turn his attention back to Aziraphale. "That's okay! You can order it now. I'll have whatever you're having. I'm not picky. Then we can get the mattresses in."

"Thank you. You really are quite patient with me." Aziraphale smiled, walking past Crowley who followed him back into the living room.

"Hey, I forgot too. I could have remembered just as easily. I don't have a time limit or anything. Tomorrow is a weekend and I don't have any big orders to get done before Monday. Try not to schedule myself like that."

"That's smart." The smile that was tossed back at him made his knees wobble.

He was in trouble.

Crowley sat down on the couch, watching as Aziraphale distractedly pulled out a phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and then looked at Crowley. "What's the restaurant's number?"

For a moment, Crowley couldn't respond. Aziraphale had a flip phone. No one had a flip phone in this 'year of our lord twenty twenty' as the kids said. "Uh, why don't I—?" He smiled and pointed to the phone. "Can you even text on that?"

Aziraphale gave his phone a startled look, and then his face deflated. "I suppose it is outdated." Then his spine straightened, shoulders thrown back, and it was like a soldier going to war. "It functions perfectly well for what I need done."

"Making sure that it takes centuries to send a message to someone, or someone forbid, having to talk in real time?" Crowley felt his face hurt with how wide his grin was. How could someone be so infuriatingly behind the times and so adorable standing by that decision?

That pert nose tipped upwards again. "I'll have you know that all of my business can be conducted just fine by this device." He wriggled the flip phone.

"It can. You're right, it's just...faster sometimes—"

"--lazier—"

"--lazier," Crowley conceded, "to use a smartphone. Observe." He spent some time going to the website of the Asian restaurant, ordering delivery with Aziraphale's input, and then paying for it. Then he pocketed the phone. "See? No talking to people. You don't really like to talk to people on the phone, do you?"

He knew he was right in his assessment when Aziraphale's lips twisted in doubt.

"Hey, you can still send emails instead of talking to people. No need to change things right now." Crowley smiled at Aziraphale. "But if you ever want to update, I could help." He glanced down at his lap as Aziraphale turned his focus on him. "I mean, just with picking out a phone that's easier to transition to and setting you up for how to make learning it easy. People act like you should just know new technology, but I went into fund management like a cat in water."

Aziraphale cackled at the analogy. "Not like a fish?"

"No, the complete opposite of one!" He laughed with Aziraphale, and then drank down his water, setting the empty glass on the table. "Want to get the mattresses?"

"Yes, let's get them." Aziraphale struck his pants legs with his palms and stood. His own glass was already empty and sitting beside Crowley's. Constructing beds did work up a thirst.

Getting in the mattresses took a lot of physical effort and shouted instructions to bend them through doorways, but eventually they got each situated on the beds. Aziraphale sat down on Adam's mattress and Crowley plopped down beside him for a breather.

"You're...pretty strong," Crowley commented, side-eying him. He'd only been watching his flexing shirt constricting around his arms for hours now.

"I am? I suppose lifting boxes of books does that." Aziraphale smiled, unconcerned by his apparent ability to lift half of — maybe more than half of — a mattress and not break a sweat.

"Yeah, it might." Crowley grinned.

The doorbell rang and both of them jumped. Aziraphale laughed. "Oh, imagine being startled by your own doorbell!"

Crowley chuckled with him and stood, leading the way to the living room, where he waited for Aziraphale to open his own door. "It is a new place, so that's a new sound. Besides, imagine that's your first guest, huh?"

Aziraphale laughed in response. With a hand on the knob, he turned to flash a smile at Crowley. “You’re my first guest, my dear.” Turning back blithely to open the door and speak to the delivery person on the other side, he didn’t know the devastation he’d left in his wake.

His knees did not get weak anymore. From old age, sure, but not from an off-handed remark that he was reading too much into from someone he’d just met.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley and raised a brow. "Shall we eat in here? I can get the wine and some fancy glasses. I'm sure they're in a box somewhere."

Crowley grinned, leaning forward to tap his empty glass. "These will be fine. No need for anything fancy. Hand the food over, and I can set it up while you pop the wine open." He held out both hands for the bag of food he could smell from where he was.

Nodding, Aziraphale handed the bag over to him, and then stood for a moment, staring at Crowley. "I may have said it before...but thank you. This does mean a lot, and we're practically strangers."

Crowley smiled. "It's really not a problem. Something about you tells me we won't be strangers for too long."

Aziraphale blinked, frowning lightly as he tilted his head, and then he smiled. "I think you're right." He didn't explain the expression on his face before turning to go to the kitchen.

Crowley heard him rummaging about, and he set up the food, opening containers and salivating at the smell of the Asian foods laid out. Aziraphale came back with two plates along with a bottle of red wine. Crowley couldn't see the label, but he thought Aziraphale might know wines.

As Aziraphale poured the wine, Crowley scooped food onto his plate. Then they switched. Crowley took a sip of the wine first, even though he should have let it breath, and made an approving noise. "Oh that's good!"

"I like to pick the best. You might as well spend money on what pleases you."

Crowley nodded and chuckled. "Yeah, I can agree with that." He twirled the noodles on the plate and took a bite, swallowing before speaking. "So tomorrow you have your son over?"

Aziraphale nodded, brows furrowing. "Yes. He's going to have questions. I don't know what to tell him."

"I mean, what is there to tell him?

Aziraphale looked at him and then sighed, spreading a hand out in a half-shrug. "I'm not sure. It's all so confusing to me."

Nodding, Crowley wiped at a bit of sauce on the corner of his lips and sucked at his finger. "Might be good to tell him that. I mean, not just 'I don't know', but let him know you don't understand."

"But I should understand!"

"And maybe you will later, but you don't right now, and that's okay. Wouldn't it be good to make Adam feel better in case something happens to him and he doesn't understand it? Think about it." He put down his plate so his hands could illustrate his point. "Something surprising and hurtful happens to him, and he's not sure why. Then he can think 'it's alright cause my dad told me that it's okay if I don't understand right away.' For right now, don't worry about not understanding and hopefully it will come to you."

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, the lines on his face relaxing, but then his lips pulled down into a frown. "What if I never understand?"

Crowley fidgeted on the couch. "That happens, doesn't it? It sucks. It isn't fair, but it happens. You might have to do something then. You do something just for you. Like-like moving to another city."

The look on Aziraphale's face cleared, eyes going wide as he stared at Crowley. Crowley was pretty sure he heard the underlying meaning there. He hadn't been subtle. "Oh. Yes. I suppose...moving out is a change, isn't it?"

"Yeah. You did that for your peace of mind. You can tell him that. You understand that. Tell him what you understand. Tell him what you don't. Be honest as you can with him. He's old enough to hear most of it."

"Yes. Yes he—" Aziraphale's hand moved then, lying on Crowley's leg for a moment before sliding off. "Thank you."

His voice was so soft and warm it was like being wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Crowley felt so good seeing the relief in Aziraphale's face and knowing he'd put it there. "Anytime. Really….anytime. You-you're not alone here."

"I'm not, am I?" Aziraphale smiled at him and then returned to eating.

Crowley followed suit, and soon they were back to small talk and little tidbits about each other's lives. The rest of the night passed peacefully, and Crowley went back home to his flat above his shop feeling satisfied.

So this was what real friendship might be like.


	5. The Closet

"Well...this is it." He shouldn't be fumbling to place the key in its hole for a second time since moving in, but his hands were shaking. The only reason he could tell was because the key was shaking. Finally, the key turned and he swung open the door, shooting Adam a nervous smile where he stood with his suitcase behind him.

Adam smiled back, stepping inside and looking around. He stopped just within the doorway. Azirpahale felt an unnecessary swell of pride for how polite Adam looked. He'd even just kept it to small talk on the way over.

He thought they may have raised him to be considerate and sympathetic.

"Let me show you your room first, and then I'll give you the, um, grand tour." He hurried past Adam, feeling a twist in his stomach. Did he think it was nice? Would he call it his room? Would this ever feel like a home to him?

He must have so many questions, and they had to talk….

"Okay, dad. This place looks nice," Aziraphale heard behind him.

He turned to smile. "Thank you! It did come furnished though. I have to say I wouldn't have picked all this modern stuff as decor." He stopped in front of Adam's room.

Laughing, Adam stepped passed him with a confidence he did not get from Aziraphale. It was something both wholly himself and a part of Tracy as he walked into the room. He moved to the bed, put down the suitcase, and began to take out his clothes. "You really wouldn't."

Aziraphale watched him place them neatly into the drawers. "You know me well, Adam. Um, is the bed okay? A friend helped me pick it out for you."

Adam stopped, turning to stare at Aziraphale with wide eyes. "A friend?"

He had no reason whatsoever to blush. "Y-yes. I met him last week actually. He's, um, I suppose we don't know each other that well. He has a floral shop in town. He owns a classic car. He likes to wear black and sunglasses." He listed off the items on his fingers.

Adam wrinkled his nose and laughed. "Sunglasses? He sounds fancy. Is he nice?"

Blinking, Aziraphale pondered over that simple question that was very important. "Yes. He's really nice. If not for him, it would have taken a great deal of effort to get the beds."

Adam nodded. "Good. You deserve nice friends."  
He knew he did. Everyone deserved nice friends, but he supposed he didn't have friends to begin with and maybe that was the point of what Adam was saying. "Yes. So do you." He smiled. "And I know you have lots of nice friends."

Nodding, Adam returned to putting away his clothes and then slid the suitcase under the bed. "There. Now you can show me the rest of the place." He grinned brightly at Aziraphale. "Then we can order dinner and watch a movie!"

That smile had always been enough to make any worries he felt pushed aside. Still...he was the adult here. "Before the movie," he said as he turned to go back into the living room, "I want to talk to you."

"Okay, dad."

"You have...questions, I'm betting."

"Yeah, but...mom talked to me. I mean, she only told me what she knew, and I still didn't understand it all, but I want to."

Aziraphale sure would have liked to understand it too. "I, um, appreciate that." He turned into the kitchen and waved a hand. "Here is the kitchen. I bought your favorite cereal and, of course, milk for tomorrow morning. I got those juices and some other snacks too."

Adam opened the refrigerator and then turned to raise a brow in a manner that mimicked a move Aziraphale sometimes did to himself in the mirror. "There's no food for you in here! Where's your cake?"

"Oh! Don't be— Adam, I can get a cake later. I did shopping for you!" He ran his hands over his jacket, and then took it off, folding it over one arm. "I want to make sure you're comfortable here."

"What if I wanted cake," Adam retorted, which was a very good point.

Aziraphale was biased though. He loved pastries. "Then tomorrow we will get some cake, but you don't — we don't need that much sugar tonight. I know I would crash within an hour of eating it!"

Adam nodded, chuckling as he closed the door. "Thanks, dad."

"The tour isn't over," Aziraphale replied, as if that was what he was being thanked for. "This way is the bathroom." He led the way there and allowed Adam to investigate with all the disinterest of a normal teenager. Then he led the way to his own bedroom. "And this is my bedroom."

"Dad, did you bring some of your books over here from the shop?"

"I don't know what you're accusing me of, but I don't like the implications." The affront in his voice was mocking, especially considering the stack of boxes with books balanced on top of them that were in the middle of the bedroom floor.

"Dad," came the expected exasperated tone as Adam smiled fondly at him, "you're supposed to sell these."

"They need to be properly categorized."

"We both know you don't use the Dewey Decimal system."

It was a familiar round of teasing banter, and that made it relaxing. "Yes, but I use a special system of books I can stand to sell and ones I can't."

Neither of them kept up the banter then as they drifted back into the living room in companionable silence. 

Aziraphale hated to sell books. He selected each one carefully. He knew them by heart. If anything, they had been his friends for all this time. They spoke in words he didn't know how to string together into coherent thought. Sometimes it was much easier to feel what a character was feeling in a book than to try and suss it out in real life. Sometimes it just helped him understand what he was feeling.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and sat down on the couch. "Wha-what would you like to order?"

"Pizza!"

Rolling his eyes, Aziraphale couldn't contain his laughter despite his underlying tension. "Of course you do." He pulled out his phone, hummed as he flipped it open, and then shot Adam a glance. "Um, would you mind terribly, teaching me how to order the pizza on your phone?"

The surprised look on his son's face should have been insulting. "You...want me to teach you how to use a smartphone?"

He was remembering a conversation he had on this exact couch the previous day. "Just to order pizza! There might come a time— Well, my new friend...said smartphones were useful."

"They really are!" The grin on Adam's face took over all of it. He pulled out his phone and held it up for Aziraphale. With a swipe of his thumb, he'd unlocked it to show brightly colored buttons on the screen. "See? These are apps. They're like, um, the buttons on a remote control." His thumb pointed at one. "This one is for ordering pizza from the place I like."

The phone was pressed into Aziraphale's hand as Adam explained, "Here. Press it. It'll log into my account."

Nodding, Aziraphale pressed the icon which changed the screen. It looked like a miniaturized menu now. "And I can press these buttons too for what you want?"

Adam nodded. "Yes. I want a pepperoni pizza with extra cheese."

Wrinkling his nose — Adam didn't get his taste for pizza from him — he pressed the corresponding buttons, figuring out even how to add the extra cheese. Adam directed him how to pay for it then, which was the hardest part.

"It's really difficult to enter in the numbers," he noted as he squinted at the screen and typed in the numbers on his bank card.

"Yeah. When you have an account, you can save your credit card information on there so you only have to do it once."

"That doesn't sound secure."

"I guess it isn't." There was a tone to Adam's voice that made Aziraphale look up. "But maybe your friend can teach you how to make sure it is secure. I think there's ways to do it." Adam grinned.

Oh, he had no reason at all to become flustered by that! Crowley probably would show him. Would he be delighted Aziraphale wanted a smartphone? "I have to buy one of these first," he admonished, "and I'm not quite ready to do that."

"You can use mine to get used to it. Do little things. There's games on there and books!"

"E-books they call them." Aziraphale grimaced. "I don't think I like them very much."

"It's easier for some people to carry around a phone than a book they might damage."

He really disliked someone having a good point, but he'd forgive his own son for it. "Fair enough." Straightening, he looked at first the table, with a book sitting on it, bookmark tucked between its pages, and then back to Adam. "We should talk."

Adam nodded, a pensive expression crossing his face. "You want to know what me and mom talked about?"

"Ah." His son was too good at reading him. He tried to keep any trace of emotion from his voice. "Wha—"

Adam scooted himself closer to Aziraphale. "She told me that she'd met someone else. She said she really hurt you."

"Yes," he squeaked, his throat closing up.

Adam bit at his bottom lip. "Are you mad at her?"

"Oh. Oh—" He didn't know what to say in reply. He'd always made it a point — he and Tracy both had — to tell Adam the truth. Taking in a deep breath, Aziraphale remembered what Crowley had told him. "I am a little mad, yes. I'm...upset. I...don't exactly understand what's happened, but I want to try my best to explain it to you." He met Adam's eyes to see an intent expression on his face. "First, this isn't your fault. I mean, you aren't to blame. None of this has anything to do with you."

Adam nodded and smiled softly. "Mom said that too. I did— I wondered if I'd done something, but I couldn't think of anything. She said that it was…." Adam trailed off, tilting his head. "She explained what she was feeling. She told me what she was feeling before this happened, and when it happened, and afterwards, dad. I know it's not me." There was another pause, and somehow it was comforting that his son was having as much difficulty as he was putting words to this. "I'm mad at her a little too."

"Yo-you are?" Aziraphale could feel how wide his eyes were. "Oh, I don't think you should—" He cleared his throat, the anger like a wedge in his throat. How could he explain to his son why he shouldn't be angry at her?

Adam didn't let him continue as he lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug. "I don't, like, hate her or anything, dad. I'm just upset because you're upset and you aren't home. I miss you."

"I miss you too!" Aziraphale's eyes began to burn, and then Adam was scooting closer, taking his hands in his own smaller ones to pull them away from his vest. He hadn't realized he had been pulling at the buttons. "What happened did hurt. I've been too upset to even speak to your mother." He took in a shaky breath. "And that's not exactly productive, is it?" He smiled.

Adam wrinkled his nose. "I guess not, but I remember you telling me that when you're angry, it's okay to take time and get away from the, uh, the source of the anger." He frowned. "So maybe it's okay if you take some time?"

Aziraphale didn't remember that exact lesson, but he was heartened his son did. "You're right, but I want to talk to your mom more. I just— I've been feeling so many emotions so strongly, I needed time." The need for understanding was beginning to overweigh his anger and hurt.

Adam bit at his lower lip. "Do you still love each other?"

That was a good question. Aziraphale heaved a sigh and nodded. "I still love her. She's my best friend." They did not have a traditional relationship, but Adam was well aware of that. "This is the hardest conversation I've had since I was your age, Adam!" 

"It is? What happened when you were my age?"

"I had a conversation with my parents about something very important to me. They were unhappy, and they said hurtful things." He gripped Adam's hands. "Your mother and I have been friends for decades. We love each other as only the best of friends can do. Maybe talking and time will help us." Aziraphale reached to brush his hand through Adam's hair, releasing his hands. "No matter what, we both love you very much. You know this, right?"

Adam grinned. "I do! Um, can I ask you a question?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Anything you want to ask me. I'll do my best to answer."

"Well, um, what would happen if I...if I liked someone, but...I wasn't sure how to tell them?"

That was not the question he had expected, but he supposed this kind of talk could lead to that, or Adam had been worrying away at this for a while. "Oh...well." Aziraphale raised a brow and smiled. "I assume that you mean more than just friends?" He had thought Adam might have had a crush before even now, but perhaps he was considering things like dating and not just passing notes with yes and no checkboxes in class. He didn't know how children did these things nowadays.

Adam nodded, and he glanced at his lap. His fingers plucked at his jeans in familiar motions. "Yeah. It's a little different. I'm, um, afraid they might get hurt."

The pronoun gave Aziraphale pauses. He stared at the top of Adam's head, remembering even more acutely that conversation with his parents. He was not his parents. Placing a hand on top of Adam's head, he rested it there until Adam looked up at him. His eyes were wide. "Why not start by telling me how they could get hurt?"

Adam fidgeted a bit as Aziraphale's hand slid off, but he didn't break his gaze this time. "I've been reading online and there's stories of— They—" He swallowed so loud it was audible to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale could easily guess what stories Adam might have read. "Adam, the Internet has a lot of things, and some of it isn't true—"

"This is!"

Aziraphale held up a placating hand. "Yes, I think I understand what you mean. I don't mean to say the danger is imagined." He stared Adam in the face. "Do you feel like someone around you will hurt you or them?" He was careful to use the same pronoun.

"No. I mean, no. I don't— My friends don't care. School seems okay." Shrugging carelessly, Adam continued, "I'm not even sure they'd feel the same really. So I...want to ask them. I looked online to get some help and saw...stories."

"I'm glad your...your friends are supporting you, Adam. I support you too. I know those stories are scary. I...had a similar experience at your age."

Adam paused for a moment. He was probably putting pieces together, connecting the dots as it were. "You spoke to your parents about it?"

Aziraphale nodded, his smile softening. "I did, yes. You know, I went to your mother right afterwards. She...supported me. It really cemented our friendship." His smile brightened at the reminder. "Now, as for the person you like, are they nice to you? Do you think they like you back?"

"Oh, yeah, they're nice to me, and I think they like me. It's hard to tell if it's like like though."

Tracy probably had a point about saying things clearly, but he'd be a hypocrite to insist on it. "Let's leave that for now then. You've seen a lot of scary stories on the Internet, correct?" When Adam nodded, he continued. "There have been good things too. It used to be illegal. You could get jailed for it."

Adam grimaced. "They'd send you to jail? Why?"

"Oh, I actually don't think I could explain it in any way that makes sense...or wouldn't upset us both." He huffed. "Sometimes people are idiots."

Laughing, Adam nodded. "That works, dad." He grinned. "So it isn't illegal now?"

"Yes. Marriage is also legal now," Aziraphale continued. "There's also a lot of people, throughout history, who have had the same feelings as you and...and me. They've asked the same questions and had the same fears. Oscar Wilde for instance."

Adam’s face scrunched as he ran a hand through his hair. “Oscar Wilder wrote stuff, right? What happened to him?”

Aziraphale smiled. “He was imprisoned for being a homosexual.” It was strange to say the word. It felt stilted on his tongue. It was like admitting what they were talking about and confirming his own part in it. “Some believe that Bram Stoker was also a homosexual and that some of the hints of this are found in his book Dracula.”

“Really?” Adam’s frown, small and thoughtful, was such a pensive look that Aziraphale had to smile.

“Well, it’s all speculation at this point. He never explicitly said, but there were many things that pointed to it. Most telling was a letter he wrote to Walt Whitman.” Aziraphale patted his pants legs with his hands. “Whitman did not hide his sexuality. He wrote about it all the time, most especially in his poetry.”

Adam pursed his lips as the frown left his face. “Walt Whitman? I’ve read his poetry! They never mentioned that in school!”

“Well why they didn't is a whole other topic of discussion. Adam, my point is, there is a lot of ugliness in the world surrounding homosexuality. There is a lot of beauty too, and people who struggled and prevailed. I think you should look up the beauty alongside that other…stuff.”

“Thanks, dad. I think I will. That might be a good topic to write about too.”

“Wr-write about it?” Aziraphale didn’t mean to sound alarmed.

“Yeah. We need to make a final essay for graduation. One of them will be picked to read aloud. The Principal's talked about tolerance and stuff. I might as well put it to the test. Maybe someone else will hear and won’t be so scared.”

Blinking rapidly, Aziraphale's mouth dropped open. He felt heat pool in his eyes as they grew wet. He didn't know why this, of all they had talked about, had struck him. Perhaps it was the entire conversation catching up with him.

“Dad? Are you okay?” He felt Adam scoot closer, and then his son's arms embraced him and pulled him closer.

Arms wrapping around his son in turn, Aziraphale sniffled and did his best not to burst into tears in Adam’s grip. He didn’t want to distress his son! “I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m just so very proud of you. You’re such a kind, good boy.”

“Dad,” whispered Adam.

They both pulled back to compose themselves. "I know you can do so much on your own, Adam, but I want you to know whatever is happening between your mother and I, we are both here for you. If you need anything, even if it's just to stand beside you, we'll do it."

"I know. Thanks for saying it." Adam smiled. "So this friend of yours, is he nice to you?"

"Uh," Aziraphale began, eyes wide at Adam echoing his earlier question, "H-he did help me put together the beds."

"He did?" Adam hadn't expected that answer given his wide eyes. "He made our beds? He, like, put them together?"

Aziraphale smiled. "He did. He made it much easier to get them here, and then he helped me put them together."

"Wow! That really is nice." Adam grinned. "Will I get to meet him?"

"O-oh!" Now that question surprised Aziraphale, and he brought his hands to his waist to tug at his waistcoat. "If— Do you want to?"

"Of course I do, dad!" There was a teasing note to his voice. "He's your friend. I'd love to meet him." He tipped his nose into the air. "I want to make sure he's good enough to be your friend!"

Aziraphale smiled. "Do you now? Then you shall have to meet him so you can approve. If he's okay with it. I don't know if he likes kids."

"He can't hate them if he made my bed."

Aziraphale beamed. "I actually made your bed."

Grinning, Adam nudged Aziraphale with his elbow. "You made it? That's so cool! I can't wait to use it!"

"I did have help, but…." Aziraphale chuckled. "It shouldn't fall to pieces."

"It's not going to fall to pieces?" Adam shook his head in bemusement. "You build bookshelves, dad! I know you haven't in a while, but they're still up. You'd never let a book be damaged from a badly built bookshelf."

"You're far more important than a book, Adam!"

"Exactly! So the bed will be perfect." His grin was cheeky as he bounced up to get the pizza when the doorbell rang with fortuitous timing. "Can we watch Monty Python?"

Aziraphale heaved a sigh, but he smiled affectionately and nodded. He felt relieved by this talk. Not only had Adam understood, even felt empathy in some spots, but it had turned into a moment of shared emotions. It felt as if he'd taken something from his own past with ragged edges that hurt him and made it a good experience for his son.

Aziraphale picked up the remote so he could order the movie for them to watch, as Adam set down the pizza and opened the lid. The smell of cheese and tomato wafted through the air.

Adam sat down beside him and grabbed a slice, taking a bite as he spoke. "Thanks, dad!"

Smiling at Adam, he started the movie and reached for his own slice, happy to forgo plates.

Father and son settled down to watch the movie, laughing for the rest of the night. Most of Aziraphale's laughter was simply because his son was delighted, but it was almost the same thing.

The next day saw Aziraphale going with Adam back to the house in a cab. He tried not to fidget too much, but when Adam's hand slipped into his and squeezed, he knew he must be showing his nerves somehow.

The car stopped and they both climbed out, Aziraphale only taking a moment to pay the driver before he followed Adam up the walkway. The door opened as Tracy gave Adam a one-handed hug. "Did you have a good time?" She looked at both of them.

"We did! Dad watched Monty Python with me!" He pushed past Tracy, taking the steps two at a time as he called back, "I'm going to meet up with my friends!"

Aziraphale smiled as he went before looking back at Tracy's raised brow and clearing his throat. "We both had a lovely time." His voice felt stiff. He'd watched television shows about this sort of thing and never believed it would be his life.

"You watched Monty Python?"

Frowning, he nodded, pulling down at his lapels. "I did. It's not terrible. It makes him laugh."

"I wasn't—" Tracy paused, stared at him, and then sighed, stepping back. "You can come inside. I want to talk. Please?"

"Y-yes." Aziraphale still didn't think he wanted to talk, but he did need to talk. He needed to understand, so he could at least explain it to his son. He could put aside his anger for that much. "We need to talk."

"We do. Want to go out onto the back porch? I can pull out some wine."

"It's ten in the morning!"

Tracy raised her brow again, smirking as she turned and walked to the back of the house.

Tutting under his breath, Aziraphale stepped into the house, closing the door behind him and following her. "Honestly," he muttered.

She must have heard him, because she laughed as she pulled out a chilled bottle of white and opened the back door. "You know how I feel about time."

"That it's 'man's invention' and you only notice it when you have to?"

"Exactly." Opening the bottle as she moved to a chair, she sank down into it and pulled out two glasses from under a section of the table. "Now do you want some?"

"Of course I do," he hissed, and for a moment everything felt normal between them. It was the same banter they'd shared for decades. "Adam said he spoke to you."

"He spoke to me about a lot of things. Did he talk to you about a lot of things?" She held up his wine with an arched brow, checking to see if they both knew what 'things' were.

Grabbing it, he gave it a taste and hummed. "Yes. We talked about you...and me, and then he talked about his friend."

"His friend he likes likes?"

"Yes."

"The one he wants to ask to go out on a date with him who is also a boy?"

Aziraphale heaved a sigh and gave her a reproachful look. "Yes," he bit out. "He was asking for advice, so I told him some history. He's going to write a paper for graduation."

"Good. That sounds good for him. I...might have told him to talk to you." Her face looks pinched with worry.

Shaking his head, Aziraphale smiles and looks into his glass. "It's alright. I mean, I still...couldn't say it, but I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of Adam knowing."

"He's a good boy. We raised him right."

"We did." He glanced up and caught her eyes, and sighed. "Tracy—"

"One moment." She held up her glass to stop him. "I need to apologize."

"You—" His eyes were wide. "What?"

"I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I was so worried about what I had to say, I messed up."

"Ah," he whispered.

"If I had said I needed to speak to you, you would have listened. Of course you would have. I was scared. I was scared of what you might say, and how you might react. You have every right to be mad at me. But—"

He frowned. "But?"

"If we had done this right, we could have talked about what was next."

He chuckled, a brittle sound that felt like it might shatter. "Honestly, I am dreading that conversation, Tracy."

"It wasn't going to be a bad one! I didn't think it was! I was going to…." She sighed. "Look at me, Aziraphale."

Aziraphale forced his eyes to her face, unable to hide how tearful his eyes were. "I just want to be with Adam."

"Oh! Oh, Aziraphale, I have— I have really messed up." There were tears in Tracy's eyes as well. "I didn't ever want you to leave. I was going to leave, Aziraphale."

He blinked at her wetly before sitting down in the chair beside her as his knees went wobbly. "What?"

"I was going to move in with Shadwell whenever you both felt comfortable with that. If Adam wanted me to stay until he graduated, I was going to wait until then." She threw a hand into the air. "Instead, I ruined things by treating you like a child and not my best friend I can talk to about difficult things!"

Aziraphale joined her in drinking as she paused.

"I still want us to be a family. I just want to be with Shadwell. Romantically."

It took Aziraphale a long moment to realize she was blushing. "Oh. That— And I moved out."

"And you moved out. It was too late to tell you then. You were angry. I...I wanted to give you some time away. I'll pay it back, all the money you've spent—"

"No! I couldn't— I didn't...stop to listen."

"I don't expect you to have after how I treated you!" Tracy smiled. "I never meant for it to happen this way. This is the worst way it could have happened, with you hurt and…." She trailed off and shook her head. "This is my fault. At least let me...do something. You spent money, Aziraphale!"

"Why...why don't we take it out of our rainy day fund then? Instead of— instead of taking a vacation together this summer?" It felt like an olive branch to him, and the way Tracy smiled said she might have seen it as the same. He made sure not to smile though.

"Oh. Okay. That...sounds fair, Aziraphale."

He was still upset. He had moved out! He had gotten a bed, though he certainly didn't mind— "Actually...I made a friend." He felt himself relaxing back into his chair.

"A friend?" He heard the surprise in Tracy's voice. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I went to a bar last week, and I met a man there." He wasn't going into details here, so he took a drink and continued. "We agreed to meet later. I think he might become a...friend."

"A friend you like like?"

He almost dropped his glass as he turned to her with wide eyes. "What? Tracy—! He doesn't— I'm quite sure he doesn't— And I don't—"

"Which means he's handsome?"

Now the words were stuck in his throat, his face filling with heat as he clenched his jaw. He finished off his drink, stood, and ran his hands down his jacket as he peered down his nose at Tracy's too-amused face. "I don't want to hear about Shadwell, so I won't bore you with the details of my new friend." He emphasized the last word just to make a point.

Tracy grinned and stood more sedately. "Of course, Aziraphale." She looked happier.

He felt happier. He knew it would take time for the hurt to really heal, but it didn't feel like he hated her anymore. He'd likely work up the energy to be angry about it all again, but for now, the wine had created a nice buzz, he was feeling flustered, and he had a need to go home and try to get some unpacking done even if he really didn't need to now.

"I think...I will spend some time in that apartment. I signed a six-month lease. I'll stay to the end of it." He paused, considered it for a moment, and grinned. "Or I'll just...not exactly break the rules. I can live in both places."

Tracy blinked, her smile falling as he brow furrowed. "Live...here and there?"

"Well, why not? Nothing in the contract says I can't. My friend has already visited. I have a bed for me and Adam, and maybe...it will be like a vacation just for me." He wiggled his shoulders, smiling as he made the decision. "At the end of the lease, I can come back home, and we'll have worked out between us what to do next, right?"

Tracy smiled again, nodding. "Your vacation is already doing wonders! Yes. We'll have worked it out." She darted her gaze down, looking at him beneath her lashes. "Does your friend have a name?"

He didn't know why he felt flushed all over again. "Anthony Crowley. He prefers to go by Crowley."

Wrinkling her nose, she nodded. "Alright then. Maybe I can meet him someday."

"Maybe," he agreed. Smiling, he walked back into the kitchen, setting the empty glass on the counter. "I am going to head home. I want to get more settled." He wanted to continue drinking. Why couldn't he do a bit of day drinking? It wouldn't hurt anything.

"Okay. You'll be safe?"

Turning, he smiled at her. "Of course. You...you be safe too, Tracy. We'll get this settled."

"Yes we will." She sounded confident about it. "You enjoy your time with yourself."

He hadn't, now that he thought about it, had time to do whatever he wanted in much too long. It was overdue perhaps. "I think I will."

This time when the door closed behind him, Aziraphale was smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a little bit more editing. The conversation between Adam and Aziraphale needed to highlight a lot of different things going on at once. I had to map it out! :P At any rare, this should be the only Aziraphale-centric chapter. We'll get Crowley back in the mix shortly.


	6. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley talk. They talk a lot. They talk sober. They talk drunk. They get closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I've been editing all previous chapters. I did not edit this one. I just finished it. I'm just posting it.
> 
> I don't mind errors being pointed out; I just wanted to make you aware there might be visible errors in this and the following chapters. Getting the content out, since I've caught up to myself, is more important than editing at this point. So if it's an eyesore, forgive me. :D
> 
> Also the chapter title is literally all this chapter is, and it is huge.

Aziraphale felt quite relaxed. He had a book in one hand and a wine glass in the other. He had, as he'd planned earlier, taken the day for himself. Unpacking the kitchen and bathroom, he had decided that was enough for the day and opened a box of books to pull one out.

Now he was reclining on the comfortable couch as his phone buzzed where it lay on the table. With a grunt of effort, he lifted himself up enough to place a bookmark in the book, slide it onto the table, and grab his phone.

Crowley’s text was short, lacking any form of proper grammar. _hey what are you up to_

Squaring his shoulders, Aziraphale hovered his finger over the keyboard and pecked out his response. _I am currently enjoying a good Jane Austen with a 2010 Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac Bordeaux. Otherwise I am quite unengaged._ He was seeing the virtue of a smartphone. It had taken ages to write that!

_writing me a novel eh? okay shakespeare youre so free you good if i drop by_

Aziraphale chuckled, took a sip of his wine, and then raised a brow as a message popped up almost immediately.

_i mean only if you want to can still meet next weekend no pressure_

Huffing, he typed out his answer. _It is absolutely fine. Come right over. The door shall be unlocked._ Then he placed the phone next to his book and began the arduous process of rising from the couch. If only because it was so comfortable.

He wobbled as he walked to the door, unlocked it, and then went back to the couch to sink back into it. Within moments he was back to reading, completely absorbed in Emma's attempts at matchmaking.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he looked up, perhaps only because his wine glass was empty. Leaning against the wall wearing a smirk under his sunglasses was Crowley.

"Oh!" He dropped his book from in front of him with wide eyes. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to watch you finish what was left of that glass. Do you know what time it is?" There was a raised eyebrow to join the smirk as Crowley straightened. The lines of his black jeans and simple t-shirt stretched and then conformed to his lean frame.

Aziraphale noticed it. "I don't care what time is it—-it is. I'm out though." He turned to stare at the bottle and frowned at its empty state.

"Everything okay?" That smirk slipped into a frown.

Waving a hand, Aziraphale set the book on the table and tried to rise. The couch resisted him. "Fine. I'm celebrating!" He managed to sound bright despite his frustration.

A chuckle signaled Crowley moving towards him, plucking the empty bottle up. "I can get us both another bottle."

"Would you? That's so kind. This couch is very comfortable!"

Grinning, Crowley turned to disappear into the kitchen. There was a clatter of shelves being opened, the pop of a wine cork, and then Crowley was back with a full and open bottle and a glass for himself. "What are you celebrating?" He plopped down beside Aziraphale and poured him another drink as he offered his glass. Then he filled his own.

"I didn't have to move out after all!" Aziraphale smiled.

Crowley's eyes must have been wide behind his glasses because his brows went up. "You...what?"

"It was a big misunderstanding! I mean, it wasn't, but it certainly was. She hadn't meant to make it— She hadn't meant to mess it up, talking to me. She was supposed to tell me like an adult."

"And she didn't." Crowley took a sip of his wine and made an approving sound.

"No, she really didn't. I'm still mad, but not as angry. I wasn't supposed to move out. She was going to move out, and I don't have to worry about Adam at all!"

"You were worried about Adam?"

He realized that Crowley hadn't been here for half of his mental conversations. Leaning toward him, he nodded, pressing a hand to his leg where it rested next to him. He hadn't realized he was lounging over half the couch, but he didn't want to move. It was so comfortable. "Yes! I thought maybe she might fight me for custody. That was silly! We got married to make adoption easier!"

"And for love."

"Pfft, we're friends!" He patted the couch's back. "I am buying this couch. I want it in my living room!"

The grin Crowley shot him was broken by him drinking down half the glass and clearing his throat as he poured himself a second helping. "You, uh, said you married…."

"We got married because we promised each other if we were still alone at thirty we would. We did it as friends. I hope we can still be friends. I think we still can. This...really…." He hummed and took another drink. "I have decided I will make the most of my time here! I am going to sit around, reading books and inviting my friends over."

Leaning back in the couch's embrace, Crowley grinned widely. "Do you have a lot of those? Are you going to have house parties?"

He pushed air out through his lips a second time. "No! Don't be silly. I am not a person— party person."

"You are really drunk."

He spoke solely to that raised eyebrow. "I am going to stay drunk all day. It's a treat to me! It's a day of vacation. I'm an adult."

"Yes, you are. Don't you have a job tomorrow morning? A business to open?"

"Don't you?"

Crowley barked a laugh then, slinging an arm along the couch's back. "Are you telling me I'm joining you on your vacation?"

"Yes. As my friend, you are cordially invited to an all day drinking party."

"I'll have to stop early to drive home."

"Bollocks!" Aziraphale covered his mouth with one hand. "Excuse me! I mean nonsense. You can slumber right here on my couch. It is very comfortable."

There was a slight pause and then Crowley shrugged. "It is comfortable. Okay. I'll stay. Why don't we wake up and go into work together? Our places can't be that far apart."

"Not in this small town." Aziraphale smiled. "I can make us a good hangover cure. I'm sure we'll both have them in the morning."

"That's settled then." Crowley tipped his head down to take a drink and pushed his sunglasses back up his nose when they slipped.

“Quite. Oh, do take off your sunglasses! You make me think you don’t feel comfortable around me, and I’d do anything to make you— I mean, I want you to be comfortable around me.”

Crowley’s face went tense for a moment before he smiled, chuckling. He took the sunglasses off slowly, pocketing them. “Yeah. Sorry. They help with the— Well, I’m colorblind. The glasses help me see color.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, lips parting as he gasped. He hadn’t meant— “I didn’t mean— I mean, I had no idea—”

“It’s alright,” Crowley interrupted. “No way you could have known.”

“The sunglasses help with your colorblindness? That exists?”

“The colorblindness or the sunglasses?”

“Crowley—”

“Yes, yes, I know what you mean,” Crowley said between laughter. "They do help, yeah. Cost a fortune, but it's worth it. I can't...discern some colors from the others. Like...red from green. So shopping for apples can be fun."

Aziraphale laughed, glad he hadn't offended Crowley. "I imagine it was. What...what was it like to suddenly see the differences in the colors?"

"Amazing!" Both of Crowley's hands went up to wave in the air, the wine coming perilously close to the edge before he took another drink. "It was like I couldn't see an orange thing in the middle of a field of grass and suddenly there it was! Just a picture, but it was amazing."

Aziraphale smiled. "Well then that's worth any cost. I wish it wasn't so expensive."

Frowning, Crowley nodded. "Yeah. I was lucky. It's still pretty new though. So hopefully…." He trailed off and pointed to the book. "What were you reading?"

"I was reading Emma by Jane Austen?"

"Yeah? She a good author?" At Aziraphale's scandalized look, he laughed and waved his hand. "I'm joking! I know who she is. Never read one of her books, but I know her. I watched one of the movies."

Aziraphale's frown smoothed somewhat at the reassurance. "The movies are okay, but they quite capture all of the wit in her banter. That's the best part: the banter between the two who would become romantically involved."

"Does it have any sex in it?"

"Does it—" Aziraphale felt his face heat up. "I don't really get into all that…."

"Oh! Sorry. I didn't mean— No, I was just honestly curious! I know it was like, back in a time when a lady being a writer was even an outrageous thing. I know some books were, you know, scandalous."

"Yellow covers."

"What?"

Aziraphale smiled, calming himself somewhat. "They had yellow covers, the scandalous books. Most were French."

"Of course they were," Crowley muttered. "So this one isn't a yellow cover." Grinning, he waved a hand at Aziraphale. "Read some to me."

"What?" He knew he looked as startled as he sounded. "You want me to read to you?"

"I mean, if you want. I've just never read it, and you have a nice voice—"

"Now I know you're drunk."

"—and I want you to read to me." Crowley glared without heat at the interruption. "Never been fond of reading. Think actually doing stuff is a better teacher."

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley as he had some secret he was keeping. "But how do you know what you can do if you don't learn about it?"

Crowley held up a finger, prepared to argue that, but then he shrugged. "Fair point. Read to me, Aziraphale."

"Alright, alright." He wiggled into the couch, pulling the book and opening it to where he was. Clearing his throat, he began, ending with the infamous quote, "I lay it down as a general rule, Harriet, that if a woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. If she can hesitate as to 'Yes,' she ought to say 'No' directly. It is not a state to be safely entered into with doubtful feelings, with half a heart. I thought it my duty as a friend, and older than yourself, to say thus much to you. But do not imagine that I want to influence you."' Aziraphale took a breath, looking up Crowley with a downward glance. "That's an important part of this book, I think."

"Is it?" Crowley was leaning forward attentively, staring at him. "What's important about it?"

"Well, Emma is a matchmaker. Some would consider her meddlesome, but her intention is to do the best for her friend Harriet. Harriet has received a letter of adoration from a man who is a simple farmer. Emma's real opinion is that he is not good enough of a match for her friend, but she doesn't say it outright. She does cast doubt, but Harriet is unsure to begin with and leans on Emma's opinion. Emma simply states that if Harriet doubts, maybe she isn't as sure of her feelings for him as she thinks she is."

"Does she convince her not to get with the farmer?"

"She does. It's a dreadful moment really. They're both heartbroken, and it ends with Harriet pursuing someone rather dreadful but who, in my opinion, meets his own perfect match. Harriet then realizes she really does care for the farmer. Emma learns an important lesson there as well, along with others, that lead her to her perfect match."

"A perfect match, huh?" Crowley's smile was soft, warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do you believe in perfect matches? Soulmates even?"

"Oh, that soulmate stuff is pure drivel. It's fluff! What does it mean anyways? To say someone is a match to you fits much better, doesn't it? It makes more sense. Being a match for someone means you match them in the mind. What is a soul?" Aziraphale scoffed.

"You don't believe in a soul?" Crowley's grin was wholly amused.

"I don't believe we can define it if it exists. And how is anything physical not a part of it? Are we not who we are inside because of, or lending to, our outsides?"

There was a long pause from Crowley before he snorted. "I need more to drink for this kind of talk." Leaning forward, he plucked the bottle off the table and poured them both some more to drink. "If you can't ever escape the physical in...what makes all of you, isn't that depressing?"

Aziraphale frowned. "A little? That does make it harder. I certainly don't— A soul is a comfort for some. I understand that. It's fine. But is it our fault we hate our physical bodies, or is it society's?"

Crowley whistled. "I mean....I guess that's a point. Still wouldn't mind—" He raised a hand and wiggled his fingers in the air— "floating away and just being what I am without worrying about my back aching."

Laughing, Aziraphale nodded. "I could do without the popping joints, the stiffness whenever I wake. I could certainly do with not running out of breath!"

"Yeah! Who made these bodies breaking down so easily anyways? Science says us being on two legs and walking around like we do is stupid."

"They say what?"

"They do! They say our spines and stuff were made to break down or something. It's all," he explained, his hand making vertical motions in the air now, "up and down and it's supposed to be," he made horizontal motions, "side to side."

"Like a dog?"

"Well maybe not a dog. Maybe like an elephant!"

"Really," Aziraphale scoffed. "There's not that much difference between them!"

Gasping, Crowley reached out to grasp at Aziraphale's arm, leaving a trail of warmth as his hand left to wave at the air again. "Of course there is! Elephants are huge! They don't have fur! They have trunks, and they remember everything!"

"Salmon remember everything, are they like elephants?"

Crowley scowled at him fiercely for the jab. "Don't be ridiculous! Salmon are fish! Elephants are...mammals?"

"Pachyderms."

"Are those mammals? Anyways," Crowley began, and then paused, "what were talking about?"

"Uh…." Aziraphale looked up at the ceiling, and then he laughed. "I honestly have no idea. I'm sorry, my dear."

A strange clicking noise came from Crowley's throat, and Aziraphale gave him an alarmed look. Clearing his throat, Crowley waved his hand again as if that explained anything. "We should make this a weekly thing," he announced.

Laughing again at his buoyancy, Aziraphale nodded. "Yes. Yes, we should. I did want to invite company over to my house, and you're company." He wrapped both hands around his wine glass. "You're very good company."

There was just enough light to see the way Crowley tipped his head down and drew his gaze away as bashful. "Yeah. You too."

"I never would have guessed," Aziraphale continued. "I thought you were rather fancy. You seem rich, which I guess you are?" He dismissed it with a motion of his hand. "Not that that matters. I just don't imagine I look—"

"Don't."

The stiff tone halted him. "Don't?" He arched a brow.

Crowley snorted. "Don't talk down about yourself. You've got style! So what if it's not going to be on the cover of some fashion magazine! I mean, it could be but have you seen what's on them sometimes? Horrible shit is what's on them! And you're not horrible shit!"

As Aziraphale tried to work out what he was sure were compliments, he responded, "Thank you?"

Crowley scrubbed his face with one hand and groaned. "Shouldn't be having honest, sappy conversations with alcohol! It makes things jumbled! I mean, I think you're handsome!"

Aziraphale was sure his face had burst into a bright red. He gaped at Crowley, who looked to staring right back in the same kind of shock. "O-oh." There was no way to respond to that. If there was a way, Aziraphale didn't know it.

"Uh." Crowley's face went from open-mouthed shock to firm certainty. "No talking down about yourself."

"Y-yes," Aziraphale stated, smiling a bit at the insistence. "Okay, Crowley." Then he cleared his throat. "More wine?"

"Yes, please," came the strangled reply, and Crowley held out his glass for a refill. This seemed to be the thing to reset their conversation.

From there on, they spoke of benign subjects, rallying themselves into friendly debate that Aziraphale hadn't enjoyed since his university days. Crowley easily kept up with all manner of topics, and delved eagerly into new ones. He even pulled out his phone to support himself on subjects he didn't know details on. Aziraphale was certain he had to get a smartphone now. They were proving to be good for looking up direct anecdotes for classical literature in defense of social commentary of those ages.

When they both began to yawn, they agreed to call it a night. Aziraphale gathered an extra pillow and blanket for Crowley, and neither of them commented as he made sure Crowley was comfortable.

At least he didn't tuck him in, but it was a near miss.

As he moved to go to his room, Crowley's hand slid out, grasping his own to tug him into a halt. He stared, wide-eyed, at the hand cradling his own and then into a sincere warm look. "U-um, yes?"

"Thanks. I mean, this was really nice. The talking."

Aziraphale smiled, squeezing the hand in his own and feeling an answering pulse. "It was yes. Have a good night's rest, Crowley. I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah." Crowley's hand slid from his own, and he rolled over onto his side. "Nite, Aziraphale."

Smiling at the curled form on his couch, he indulged in a couple seconds of tracing the lean form under the blanket with his eyes before retreating to his own bedroom for a well-deserved rest. He was asleep in no time at all.

The next morning, Crowley felt as if melted slugs had crawled into his mouth overnight to die. Swallowing did nothing to ease the discomfort. Sitting up made all the blood settle in various places, and the pounding of his heart joined the pounding in his head. His stomach felt soured.

"Ugh," he said aloud, not expecting to receive a response.

"You're up! I'm so glad. We really must get some water and medicine in you. I'm also preparing a hangover concoction that is sure to make you feel a bit better."

Groaning, Crowley swung his legs over, settling his feet on the carpeting. Even the soles of his feet protested existing right now. The worst of everything was the surging knowledge that Aziraphale was a morning person. "Mmnph."

Crowley met Aziraphale's wide eyes as he stumbled into the kitchen and slid into a stool across from the bar. "Oh, you look a shade nearer to death, my dear."

Dropping his head into his hands in agreement, he heard a soft clattering sound he couldn't see behind his shield from the sun and then a harder clatter as a cup and saucer slid between the tent of his arms. There were two pills resting next to the cup full of steaming tea.

Groaning in relief, he snapped up the pills, swallowing them both down and chasing them with the warmth of the sweetened tea.

There was blessed silence for a long moment, only the sounds of Aziraphale bustling around and the smell of breakfast on the air. When he finally lifted his head, squinting in the sunlight, it was to the sight of Aziraphale with his sleeves rolled up, flipping what had to be pancakes.

No one had a right to cook breakfast with their sleeves rolled up. Crowley's gaze was fastened to the swell of muscle half-hidden by cloth, bunching and relaxing underneath it. Then Aziraphale was turning around, his spatula sliding pancakes on top of each other, and Crowley had to look down at his tea.

"I hope you can eat this. I'm preparing some shakes for both of us."

Crowley looked up and noticed the squint of Aziraphale's eyes. He might have been a morning person, but he definitely still felt the effects of the night before. "Long as it's for both of us. You taken some pain pills too?"

Syrup and jam and butter were set out in front of him, and then Aziraphale was sitting across from him at the bar with his own plate of pancakes. "Oh certainly. We'll be right as rain in no time, ready to—" Aziraphale groaned then, his fork clattering to his plate. "I really don't feel like dealing with any customers today!"

Crowley barked a laugh, which his head reminded him was a mistake, and grinned through his grimace. "Don't you need customers?"

"Heavens no!" Aziraphale made what could have been a clucking sound and set to dressing up his pancakes. "A sale of one book can last me a month. I own my building, so there's no rent."

"You-you own it?" He couldn't even get a good deal on his rent. He'd only never worried about it because he was a professional in investing. "How'd you work that out?"

A smug smile slid into place on Aziraphale's face, and his shoulders wiggled. "I know the owner. There were some shady individuals bothering me about the building. I promised to keep it out of their hands no matter how much they offered me."

"Shady individuals?" Crowley laughed. "You make it sound like the mob wanted to set up shop!"

Shrugging, Aziraphale dipped his fork through fluffy layers, scooping the bite of pancakes on the tines of his fork. "I never bothered to ask who they were. I just made sure they never bothered me again."

"What did you—?" he began, and then broke off as the food slid into Aziraphale's mouth and he moaned around the biteful. "Uh…."

Aziraphale paused to swallow, eyes wide. "Are you okay?"

He choked on air. It went into his mouth and right down the wrong way. Coughing, he waved a hand at Azirpahale's concerned face. "M'fine," he croaked, grabbing for the tea and taking a careful sip. "Like those pancakes, huh?"

Azirpahale blinked in bewilderment and nodded. "I quite do. They're fluffy!" He smiled. "Don't you like them, my dear?" Then he took another bite and groaned, eyes fluttering closed.

The tea didn't do anything to stop his throat drying. "Uh, yeah, no, I mean it's fine! They're great!" He took a bite just to prove it, but all his attention was on Aziraphale. He ate with a kind of delicate gusto, neat and precise but laboring over each bite as if it were precious. Crowley suddenly understood all that food fetish stuff he'd accidentally wander into.

Within moments, Aziraphale was done with his plate, and Crowley had to hurry to catch up. Luckily Azirpahale blithely stood, moving back to the counter with his empty plate. After sliding it in the sink along with the silverware, he reached to pull a blender from where it rested against the wall. "And now for our hangover cures!"

The peppy way he stated that was worrying, and as Crowley finished his pancakes and finished the last of his tea, he watched Aziraphale gather items from the freezer and fridge. "Uh, what does this hangover cure have in it?"

"Do you like strawberries?"

"I do," Crowley drew out the last word to indicate his growing worry.

Laughing, Aziraphale turned. "There was research done a while ago, on the best hangover. It was all scientific, I assure you. I put some additional things to make more of a smoothie and less of a drink. They said coconut, pear, and lime juice did something that helps alcohol leave the body quicker. The specifics were beyond me, but they listed the foods not to use, so I add strawberry, just to make the whole thing a more tropical flavor."

Crowley watched him pour frozen strawberries into the mix. "What things are bad?"

"Well, coffee for one. It's absolutely horrible for a hangover!"

Chuckling, Crowley leaning his head on his arm as it balanced on the table. "I'll make sure to avoid that. Tea okay?"

"They said green and black teas are better I believe." Aziraphale poured the smoothie into two glasses and brought them to the table. "I didn't like the sting of the lime, so the strawberries smooth it out."

"Yeah?" Crowley was still smiling as he took a drink of the smoothie and made an appreciative noise. "It's not bad." He grinned. "Think we can take them to go?"

"Of course! I'm sorry, you probably need to open up your shop!" Aziraphale stood, hands flapping as he hurried to get his things ready.

Crowley stood slower, making a show of moving smoothly back into the living room. "Nah. No early appointments. I own my business. I make my schedule. Something came up more important than opening on time," he scoffed.

"Oh?" Aziraphale's voice floated into the room distractedly as he followed. "What was that?"

Crowley grinned. "Got to spend time with my friend."

Coming to a halt in the middle of the living room, Aziraphale stared at him with wide eyes. A bit of color appeared high on his cheeks. "O-oh!"

Crowley took the break of motion to wink at Aziraphale. "No rush, Aziraphale. Let's take our time and give our customers what for."

The way Aziraphale ducked his head, eyes lingering on Crowley's for a moment, was endearing. Crowley shoved his hands in barely there pockets and felt immensely proud as Aziraphale muttered and moved to the door. He was walking slower now.

"Beautiful day for a ride anyways, isn't it?"

The shift in topic was a lifeline, and Aziraphale grasped it with both hands, so to speak. "Yes! It really is. Why look at that sun?"

Crowley did not, in fact, look at the sun because Aziraphale's smile was bright enough to make his morning. Despite that sappy thought, he had a spring to his step as he moved to the parked Bentley, opening Aziraphale's door for him.

He thought that Aziraphale's smile could be called simpering as he ducked into the car and wiggled in his seat. Crowley knew he had it bad, feeling a fond smile stretch his mouth as he closed the door and walked around to slide into the driver's seat.

A rumble of the engine and they took off at a fast clip. "We can stop at mine first. I can help you pick out a plant."

"I don't think—" Aziraphale began.

"I insist. A plant just for your shop. A jade one. You see a jade plant and I bet you'll love it."

"If I see it and...like it, I will."

"Deal!"

His smile lasted until they pulled up to the shop, large single-paned windows giving a clear view of a white interior filled with green floral dotted with multi-colored blooms. He stared into his shop windows as if trying to see them from a new person's perspective. It looked kind of bland.

Crowley's hands drummed on the steering wheel as he turned off the car. "Well. That's it."

Aziraphale was staring out of the window at his shop. From here, Crowley couldn't see what he was staring at or his expression. He twisted the leather underneath his fingers and was definitely not nervous except for the way his heart was beating. He hoped Aziraphale didn't hear it.

Finally Azirap[hale turned to him. "It looks lovely. It's neat and clean. Very professional. If I were plant shopping, I would trust it implicitly." He beamed.

Crowley was glad he'd put his glasses back on. His mouth opened, he croaked out a sound, and then he nodded. "Uh, yeah. I mean, yeah. Gotta trust your plant, um, person that you buy plants from." To save face for that bungled mess of words, he exited the car.

Aziraphale opened his door, stepping out onto the sidewalk with a more dimmed version of his earlier smile. "I think it's important, yes," he continued as if their conversation hadn't been interrupted. "Just imagine if someone offers you the wrong plant. I mean, I'm not an expert—"

"No, it makes sense. Just...it isn't something someone usually says." He smiled at Aziraphale before moving to the door to unlock it. "See? No customers waiting to pounce me." He turned on the interior lights only and began to pace the perimeter, making sure to lean in close during his inspection so he could mumble at the plants.

It wouldn't do to rant at them loudly with a guest.

He felt Aziraphale's eyes on him, and then heard him shuffle around as he explored the shop's front. Crowley paused, narrowing his eyes at a snake plant with drooping leaves. "Are you...slacking on the job," he hissed. "Do you know what I do to slackers?"

"My dear, are you talking to the plant?"

Jerking upwards, Crowley felt his face heat as he turned his sunglasses toward Aziraphale. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. You gotta show them who's boss or they'll revolt?"

The smile at the edges of Aziraphale's lips was damning. "I see. I didn't know plants could coordinate a revolution so well."

He was being made fun of, and he squared his shoulders and huffed. "They aren't an army. They're assassins! They do all the sneaky whispering stuff that means the others find out you've gone soft. Before you know it, there's spots on all of them!" He pointed at Aziraphale, wagging his finger. "Mark my words, you let one get out of line and the whole lot will follow!"

A hand went up to cover his mouth, and there was a sound behind them that was muffled. "I think if you talk to them nicely, they'd listen better."

"Bollocks!" He was being laughed at now! "I'll prove it to you!" He stalked to a display of smaller potted plants and picked up a jade plant, carrying it back to Aziraphale and thrusting it at him. "This one has been refusing to flower since I bought it. Been threatening it for weeks. It blossoms because you give it treats, then you'll win."

Aziraphale's hands came out slowly, cupping the pot between them. "Um, what will I win exactly?"

"Oh, uh—" He didn't think he'd ever bet with someone this much before. He'd had a plan last time. "How about you have to read to me?"

"Re-read what?" Aziraphale's eyes had gone large now.

"Um, I don't know. Something by Oscar Wilde?"

"I can do that, yes."

There was a silence between them. He wasn't sure what Aziraphale's pause was about, but his because he was realizing that Aziraphale hadn't refused the plant. He'd talked about the language of flowers before, and Crowley was desperately hoping he wasn't realizing the meanings behind this one. He also hadn't refused the bet, but he hadn't won it yet either.

"And what do I get?"

"Er, uh, well...what do you want?"

Aziraphale stared at him, down at the plant, and then up at him again. "I...I would like a hedge maze."

"You...uh, what?" Crowley leaned back, surprised by the request. It was so out of his realm of possibility as something Aziraphale might request.

"I'd pay for it, of course, but I'd just love a tiny one in my backyard. With a small fountain or a bench in the center?" Aziraphale's fingers fumbled around the pot, pulling it close to his chest.

It was— Actually it wasn't something he'd ever done before. It seemed like fun, and Aziraphale had such a— Was he pouting? He had puppy eyes! Tilting his head, Crowley regarded Aziraphale with a soft smile. "Deal. You win, I'll build you a small hedge maze...with something nice in the center."

"Oh, thank you!" Aziraphale's face lit up again, clutching to the jade plant to his chest.

"Y-yeah. Um, let me give you a tour of the rest of the place and then we can head to yours." He led Aziraphale behind the counter, but there wasn't much to see. There was a sink, a large bin for excess plant parts to be composted, an office space, and then the stairs that led upstairs to his loft.

He was not going to give Aziraphale a tour of his own home just yet. "Um, you probably need to...open your shop. I'd like to, um, clean too," Crowley explained as they walked back out to the Bentley.

Aziraphale nodded, an easy smile on his face. "Of course. We do have businesses to run."

"Yeah." Chuckling, he opened the door for Aziraphale without thinking, closed it to his happy wiggle, and then went around to start the car. "So, you, uh, you liked it?" he asked as he drove toward the bookshop's address.

"It was neat. Oh, I mean not neat the way the children say it," Crowley could hear the wrinkle of his nose, "but neat in the clean and orderly way."

"Thanks! I mean, I think that's how a floral shop owner would have his shop."

"Well that is how you have your shop, yes."

Waving a hand in the air, Crowley explained, "No, no. I mean I think that's how a floral shop owner would have their shop if they had one."

There was a pause, an exhalation of air beside him, and then Aziraphale's strained voice. "You are a floral shop owner."

Now it was Crowley's turn to wrinkle his nose. "I'm an ex-hedge fund manager who needed a job in a small town and knew something about plants."

When the silence continued, he glanced at Aziraphale to see a puzzled expression on his face. "Did you know I took religious studies? I have been in religious schools since I was a child. I did not end up pursuing my career. Instead I am a bookseller. I'm not pretending to be a bookseller any more than you're pretending to be a florist."

"Uh—"

"You obviously know your trade. Do not insult yourself by pretending you are not a bona fide seller of plants!" Crowley could hear Aziraphale panting at the end of his sentence.

"Feel strongly about that, huh?" Crowley grinned as they pulled the car in front of the bookstore. It was a small, squat brick building nestled between two larger ones. The windows were as big as Crowley's, but they afforded no glimpse inside. Instead there was the back of bookcases pressed up against them.

"Quite." Aziraphale turned in his seat. "You should too," he insisted.

Clearing his throat, Crowley nodded. "I'll-I'll think about it. Thanks."

As Aziraphale nodded and climbed out of the Bentley, Crowley joined him, walking behind him to the door as Aziraphale fiddled with several locks.

"So, um, why didn't you become some kind of preacher thing?"

"I probably would've engaged in further spiritual studies. I can't imagine being a public face at all! What a horrible idea. All those people, staring at me, and me with only my notes to hold onto. No, the religious life was not for me. I mean, I still believe," he added, pausing to glance at Crowley as he pushed open the door, "but I just don't feel that calling anymore. I don't think I ever did."

"Does that," Crowley inquired, "bother you?" He divided his attention between Aziraphale and the books as they moved through a dimly lit sort of hallway. They were encased on either side by bookshelves filled with leather-bound tomes. He thought there must be some tables because there were books there too, but he couldn't see the surface of them. Ahead was a counter with an old-fashioned cash register that fit the overall theme of the place.

"No." Aziraphale stopped in front of the counter, placed the potted plant on it, and turned around, fingers twisting over the buttons of his waistcoat. "No. It doesn't bother me. It's more just a statement of fact. It's nothing like a crisis of faith or anything because I do believe. I am...comfortable here."

"It's nice in here. I mean, cozy." Crowley smiled. "Smells good too. That candles?"

Aziraphale's eyes widened, his fingers stilling somewhat. Then he tipped his head up and obviously sniffed the air. "Um, no. No candles." Wrinkling his nose, he laughed. "I've never noticed a smell, but I'm glad it's good. When I first opened, it smelled like mildew. Horrible stink!"

"I bet it was!" Crowley laughed and stepped in closer to Aziraphale. He thought he made it look casual and smooth. He stared at Aziraphale for a moment and then looked around. He really wanted to kiss him.

Aziraphale's shoulders rose up into the air, and he took a step backwards until he bumped into the counter. Crowley didn't follow him. "Um, I wanted...to thank you for the plant."

"You don't—"

"I want to!" Those fingers were working over his vest. Crowley wanted to tell him he had that twisting feeling in his gut too.

Crowley was...not exactly afraid. Well, maybe he was afraid. Aziraphale was obviously afraid though. Crowley wanted to find what of exactly, but he also wanted to brush that stray curl that was drifting over Aziraphale's forehead as he spoke. "Okay. You can." He smiled.

Wiggling his shoulders and smiling, Aziraphale slid out from between Crowley and the counter and disappeared behind one of the walls of bookshelves.

Crowley took several steps back, sighed, and looked around him. There were...books everywhere. He could see a little space though carved out, and he wandered over to it. There was a comfortable looking chair with a desk piled with various objects.

A brief inspection showed an odd assortment. Aziraphale even had a quill and feather. Then there was a container that contained what looked like pastries. He noted the kind for future reference. The closed journal was the most intriguing, but there was no way he was reading it.

A surprised noise made him turn to see Aziraphale watching him from the counter.

"Ah, sorry. It looked, um, I'm just a curious sort. I didn't touch anything." He held up his hands.

"No, it's alright. I should've expected you would wander." Aziraphale smiled, approaching him with a book in his hands. "I didn't know if you'd— Well, this isn't meant to say you should read more books on plants, but this one...I quite liked." He held the offering out.

Crowley took the book with the appropriate amount of reverence, holding it up for inspection. "Down the Garden Path?" he read.

"Um, yes. It's an account from a novice to gardening. The tone of the writer is refreshing. What you said in the car…. Just because you are not considered some kind of expert in the field by those with high-end degrees and such doesn't mean you aren't legitimate!"

Crowley grinned and glanced up at Aziraphale. "I like how passionate you are," he blurted, and then ducked his head back to the book.

"Ah," Aziraphale's voice trembled, "you should...you should think about yourself better is all."

Looking up, Crowley smiled. "Yeah. We both should, right?"

"Y-yes. Quite."

Crowley did not step toward Aziraphale this time. His body vibrated with the need for it, but Aziraphale looked so tense. He didn't want to frighten him. They would talk about it first. They would have a lot to talk about anyways. There were things Crowley had to tell Aziraphale before...before any talks about—about—

He thought he might want to be in a relationship with Aziraphale. That was sudden, wasn't it? They'd known each other a week and not even a true seven days, just a couple days. His knees felt wobbly. "I should...let you open!" He grinned, feeling the pull of it on his mouth unnaturally.

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "Oh! You should get back to your shop as well! I mean, business and all."

"Yeah." Crowley stood for a beat longer with the book in his hands and then walked past Aziraphale and to the door. He could hear soft footfalls behind him as he was followed. Turning, he beamed at Aziraphale, the expression more natural on his face. "We'll catch up again, right? I...I like spending time with you."

Aziraphale smiled in return, the edges of his eyes crinkling softly. "Oh, my dear, I do enjoy spending time with you. Really, I do, and we shall." His hands flapped in the air then. "Oh!"

Crowley jumped at the loud exclamation.

"Adam actually wants to meet you! How about you drop by this weekend? I could, um, text you the time?"

"He wants—? Yeah! Yeah, I can stop by!" He was grinning broadly now. He had no idea…. Did that mean Aziraphale had talked about him? He felt warm inside….

"Good! Good," Aziraphale repeated in a calmer tone. "I will see you then."

"You will!" With that, Crowley turned and left the shop, a jaunty step to his pace as he made his way back to the Bentley. He hoped this week passed by quickly, or he was going to stress clean his entire loft again….

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the text conversation was legible. The hangover info is real. The plant book is real. :D
> 
> The Jade plant: "Jade Plant is a perfect present for a friend. If it flowers, it is the result of great care given to the plant. Flowering Jade Plant reflects well on the owner and symbolizes great friendship, luck, and prosperity. The green leaves signify energy, and the joy of friendship and the flowers represent the fragrance of great friendship." - https://worldofsucculents.com/jade-plant-for-good-luck-prosperity-and-friendship/


	7. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Aziraphale spend their normal weekend time together, but now Crowley joins them. What has Crowley brought to entertain them all with, and maybe bring Aziraphale and him closer together?

"Wow, dad, you got a lot of cake in here."

Aziraphale turned from the counter where he was preparing one of the cakes he'd taken out of the fridge. "Some of those are not cakes, Adam. Some of them are pasties. And of course I have a lot." He could hear that tone taking over his voice, but by the grin on Adam's face, he appreciated it. "I have guests coming over every week now. I'm quite popular!"

"You really are!" Adam agreed so readily it made Aziraphale flush. "Is your friend coming over this weekend? Um, Crowley?"

"Do you want him to? I invited him the day after I dropped you off. He seemed eager to meet you." Aziraphale felt the wiggle build up and allowed it to release through his shoulders. He sliced the cake twice and placed each on a plate before covering the cake back up.

"I'd love him to come over. We can all watch a movie. Do you think he likes kids?"

"Well, he didn't make any faces when I mentioned you...or talked about you...or we put together your bed. He seemed more surprised than anything else." Picking up the plates, he moved to the living room with Adam, who carried two glasses of him. "I told him I'd text him when we were ready."

"Text him then. He can come over and have cake!"

Aziraphale sat down the plates and smiled. "I will." Pulling out flip-phone, he began the arduous task of sending out a grammatically correct message while Adam sat down and helped himself to his share of the cake. "I think you're quite right," he commented as he typed. "I really ought to get a smartphone. I think...I'll ask Crowley to help me."

"Good idea. He can probably get you an easy one to use. You can take really good pictures with some too."

"Hm," he agreed distractedly as he pressed send. "There we go. All sent." Resolutely, he placed the phone on the table so he didn't check it every minute for a reply.

"You really like him, dad?"

His fork clattered from his fingers in mid-motion, luckily landing on the plate. "Oh, well, yes. We've become...very good friends." His gut twisted as he looked over at Adam's contemplative expression. "He's a good friend. He's funny and quite clever. He doesn't mind me either."

"Mind you?" Now Adam's face screwed into confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he paused to flutter his hands over his waist, his bow-tie, his books already stacking around the apartment haphazardly, "I have a way about me. I take some getting used to."

Adam's face scrunched up, lips parting as he tilted his head. "If someone gets to really know you and wants to be your friend, they're not going to 'mind you', dad." He grinned then. "I have a tree-house with a throne. I have a way about me. Do you think people just 'mind me'?"

"No! I mean," Aziraphale's lips puckered. "that's hardly fair to throw it back into my face."

"I don't think you're being fair to Crowley. What if these things you think he has to mind he actually just likes? My friends like all my stuff. We have fun with it. What if he has fun with it?"

"I suppose…."

"You could just ask him."

Aziraphale's hand flew up to flutter in the air. "That would be entirely too rude! It would be...so forward!"

"Is it bothering you though?"

"No. I mean, not really. He did mention I should think better of myself, and I mentioned later he should think better of himself too."

"Ah-ha! So maybe he thinks you mind him too. Maybe he thinks he has a way too. So," and here Adam's eyes took on a glint that meant he had an idea, "you can tell him you don't mind him and his ways."

Aziraphale was smart enough to see the manipulation, but it was a good one. It had good intentions as well, he was sure. Reaching over, he managed to get a good swipe of Adam's hair with his hand before he ducked with a laugh. "Aren't you a clever one too. Crowley is going to enjoy you, I can tell."

"If I like him!" There was that upward tilt of the head that was all his father's.

The buzzing of the phone brought his focus to the table, where he reached out to fumble his hands over the surface before picking up the phone and flipping it open. "He can be over in— Oh, that's not much time at all." Then, ridiculously, he looked around as if he planned to tidy up.

"Dad, why don't you get him a slice of cake ready?"

He could kiss his son. He knew just how to distract him and give him something solid to do. It had been much easier to do this when he was drunk. Nodding, he got up, taking his time as he wound around the couch and into the kitchen.

He could hear the chime of Adam's phone as he played on some game with it. Aziraphale wanted to make sure he took his time. He remembered it took about ten minutes to get from Crowley's to his place with the lights.

Lifting up the lid on the cake, he carefully cut out a slice that was neither too slim nor too thick and laid it on its side on the plate. Then he poured a glass halfway with milk. Taking both items in hand, he carried them to the living room and set them down.

"Ah, I should mention that Crowley wears sunglasses. They're prescription."

"The sunglasses are? Is he sensitive to sunlight?" Adam looked up from the screen of his phone which cast a blue light over his face.

"Not that I'm aware. They might need to be sunglasses for them to work so he can see properly. I'm not sure. I just didn't want you to think he was being rude if he kept them on indoors."

Adam laughed, waving a hand. "I wouldn't think he was rude. Maybe trying too hard to be cool, but all adults do that."

"I take serious affront to that," Aziraphale huffed good naturedly.

When the bell rang, Aziraphale bounced toward the door, remembered himself, and finished the walk to the door more sedately. He opened it and smiled at Crowley. Did he have to lean against the door-frame quite like that? "Welcome!"

Opening the door wider, he stepped back to allow Crowley inside. There was something under his arm, which became clear to be a box as he sauntered into the room. Aziraphale caught his gaze on Crowley's hips, swinging like a pendulum, and then cleared his throat. He needed to make introductions!

"Adam. Adam, this is Crowley. Crowley, this is my son Adam." He folded his hands in front of him as Crowley and Adam stared at each other. He was not nervous in the least, but he did begin to breathe when Crowley broke into a grin and swung the box he held under his arm into both hands.

"Hey, Adam. Want to play a board game?"

That got Adam's full attention as his eyes landed on the box, eyeing it with what Aziraphale knew was interest. The phone was shoved into his pocket. "What kind?"

"It's called Betrayal at House on the Hill. Different game every time you play it. You put down tiles that are rooms, spooky stuff happens, and when enough spooky stuff happens, the whole game changes. Most of the time one of has to be evil, and we have to defeat them." Approaching the table, he sat the game down and turned to grin at Aziraphale. "Hope it's alright I brought it."

"Yes, it is! Why, it's a wonderful idea!" His grin threatened to run off his face. Moving to the table, Aziraphale gestured to it and then reached down to move some books off its surface. "I brought you some cake and milk. We've all had a slice."

"Cake at this time of day?" Crowley glanced at the plate as he opened the box and began to shuffle through its content.

"Dad likes cake any time of the day," Adam supplied. "I'm not going to complain!"

Crowley barked a laugh, reaching over to grab for the plate and straightening. "Well, it looks good!"

"I only purchase from a specific baker I know doesn't use those ready mixes. She bakes it all from scratch. She's Welsh, and just has the loveliest laugh," Aziraphale explained. He leaned down to look at the tiles for the game and couldn't really understand them. They looked like ordinary, if a bit dreary, rooms.

Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley's sunglasses pointed at him, a soft smile on his lips. "Sounds delicious." He took a bite of the cake then, and nodded. "Mmm, that is delicious. I took you for a guy who only liked the best." Crowley's long legs moved around the couch, over the back of it, and down in the seat beside Adam with a plop.

"Oh—"

"You really shouldn't—"

He and Adam both made sounds of surprise at the acrobatic move, and Crowley wrinkled his nose at them. "Ah, you're both rule followers? I didn't get my shoes on the couch. Not going to break it. Just saved myself some steps." His hand rose, hesitated for a moment, and then grabbed for his sunglasses to pocket them.

"I'd do that all the time if I could, but dad says—"

"Yes, your dad does say, so do not start just because Crowley is an adult who acts like a ruffian!" Aziraphale felt his shoulders hitch upwards, spine straighten, as he frowned at Crowley.

Crowley did not even have the grace to look apologetic. "Yeah, you can only be a ruffian when you're an adult, and then never in front of your parents. Even at our ripe old age your dad is always going to tell you to mind your manners."

"And I'll tell you to mind yours too, Crowley!" He huffed and grabbed the nearby lone chair, dragging it over toward the table. "Now do teach us how to play."

Hand rising in a mock salute, Crowley's grin didn't fade in the least. It probably didn't help that Adam was giggling at them both. "Aye-aye sir!" He picked up the instructions. "Game's pretty simple. We pick the character we want to be. They all have traits to them. Some are stronger or weaker than others in certain things. It's kinda like picking how you want to play.

"You explore the house by picking up tiles of rooms during your turn and setting them down where doors are. You use stuff in the house to make yourself stronger before the second phase of the game begins."

Aziraphale picked up a character card in a pentagon shape that probably fit with the creepy theme of the game. "Might, sanity, speed, knowledge," he read. "What do each of them do."

"Pretty straightforward. Might is your strength. Sanity is like mental prowess. Speed is how fast you are, and knowledge is how smart."

"Oh, kind of like Dungeons and Dragons, where you have strength, dexterity, Intelligence, and wisdom," Adam chimed in. "Me and the Them play that game sometimes."

"The-- " As Crowley looked to Aziraphale in confusion, Aziraphale waved a hand to signal he skip the question for now. "Uh, yeah. I haven't played DnD in years. Didn't know people still did it. Thought it was uncool." He drew out the last word, leaning back in his seat and taking another bite of the cake.

"Who cares if it's uncool," Adam scoffed. He leaned forward to take the glass of milk, drained it, and then placed it to the side away from the board. Then he grabbed a character card and grinned. "I want to be more knowledgeable!"

"I guess I'll be this one. Their sanity score is higher."

Scoffing back at Adam, Crowley picked his own tile. "I'll be the one with the highest might then. Someone's gotta fight the monsters."

"Monsters?" Aziraphale looked up in alarm. Crowley was grinning at him again. "I suppose this is a horror game, but...what else happens?"

"All sorts of bad things, but you do them so you can make your numbers higher and have tools and weapons. When you draw the omen cards," he began, taking out each of the three decks to shuffle and set them aside, "you have to roll dice. When the number on the dice is less than the amount of omen cards drawn, the haunt begins!" He raised a hand in the air and wiggled his fingers.

Aziraphale thought he was trying to be spooky, but neither he nor Adam looked impressed. Crowley lowered his hand. "What is the haunt?"

"That...will be a surprise, but I promise it's fun!" Crowley leaned back. "Ready?"

Aziraphale glanced at Adam, who was eyeing Crowley with interest before he turned to Aziraphale and grinned. "I'm ready. You, dad?"

Smiling, Aziraphale nodded, squaring his shoulders. "I am. Get ready for me to lick your butt!"

He didn't know why they were both staring at him, but Adam burst out laughing, falling back into the couch. Crowley groaned and grimaced. "Kick. Kick your butt."

"I can't— Dad—!"

Aziraphale folded his arms across his chest. "I am not used to the changing slang of kids."

"Changing— It's been a thing for...for maybe centuries!"

"Oh, it has not! You're exaggerating!"

"I am not!"

There was laughter to the side, and Aziraphale glanced at Adam, who doubled over, waving a hand. "Adam, really," he chastised.

"Me? You two act like you've known each other for years!" Aziraphale was at least pleased to note that he seemed delighted by this.

Glancing at Crowley ruefully, Aziraphale pursed his lips. "What do you think, Crowley? Does this feel like we've known each other for—"

"--yes." Crowley's eyes were wide at his own declaration.

"Oh," Aziraphale whispered. His hands fluttered in the air. "Well, then that was easy." He smiled and felt something in his stomach flip when the expression was returned.

A clearing throat to their side reminded him they had an audience. "So who goes first?"

"Ah, yeah!" Crowley made a show of picking up a die and rolling it on the table. "There. See? We roll for it. Whoever rolls the highest goes first and then it's clockwise."

Aziraphale and Adam both roll, with Adam coming out on top of the little contest. It gives Aziraphale time to watch Adam and Crowley both take their turns. They eagerly get into character, chattering between each other as if all three of them have been locked into this haunted house together.

Then it was his turn, and both Crowley and Adam were watching him. "Um, well, I don't know about you two, but I came here on purpose."

"On purpose? Are you nuts," Crowley rumbled, amusingly taking on a deeper voice for their muscle.

Pitching his voice higher, Aziraphale gave an impressive snort. "I researched this place. I came here for the knowledge and power it might contain!"

"That sounds," Crowley paused. "Just like you," he finished, smirking.

Grinning at the giddiness he felt at the play-acting, he continued the game, revealing another room and exploring it. The game was actually quite dark. If it were real, he wouldn't have gone within twenty feet of it.

Crowley, however, was kicking his feet occasionally, cackling, and otherwise enjoying himself. "I like spooky," he proclaimed, taking any challenge that came and oftentimes paying for it.

Adam, Aziraphale was happy to notice, seemed the most taken by the game. Aziraphale had never thought of something this simple and wonderfully imaginative to do with his son, but was glad Crowley had introduced it to him. He'd always imagined he was too stuffy to play a game like this.

"You're a natural," Crowley crowed as he rolled the dice over the tiles set up into a sprawling and unrealistic pattern on the table. "No!"

"What," Aziraphale looked at the dice and then the amount of cards laid and gasped. "The Haunt begins!"

Crowley groaned, leaning to grab the instructions. "This part's got a bit of research to it. Okay, so the haunt has officially begun in this room," he began, pointing a finger at the room his own character was in. "That means we turn to page…." Trailing off, Crowley flipped through the book, reading the instructions before he cackled. "Hah!" He waved the book at Adam and gestured to the page he held open. "You're the betrayer!"

"I am?"

"You've turned evil! You've betrayed us all, you wily devil!" Crowley picked up another book with 'Traitor's Tome' on the cover and handed it to him. "Page fourteen."

Adam laughed, taking the book and turning to the page to begin reading.

Both of them jumped when Crowley yelped. "Ah, ah, ah! You have to take it— No, me and Aziraphale will go into another room! We can't be here while you plot our demise!" Standing, he reached down for Aziraphale's hand.

He only hesitated for a moment before he took Crowley's hand in his. It's familiar and new all at once, as if something has shifted between now and when they last held hands. Crowley doesn't seem to notice. He just leads Aziraphale out of the room as Adam chuckles behind them.

The door closes with a quiet snick behind Aziraphale as Crowley spins them both around, seemingly unwilling to release his grip. "Hah, now we plot how to defeat him!"

Shaking his head ruefully, Aziraphale smiled at Crowley's grin. "You're really having fun with this."

"What's not to have fun with?" Crowley paused, facing him with that giant smile still, and then stepped in closer.

Aziraphale's breath hitched in his throat. "Ah, um, well…."

"Aziraphale…?"

It was a question, and Aziraphale knew he should respond, but the words became stuck in his throat. He swallowed and looked at Crowley's nose.

"Aziraphale, are you okay? You look— Here. Let me."

He felt himself being guided to his bed, and he gladly sat on the edge. "I'm sorry. I'm fine."

"No, no, my fault for— Well, I did want to kiss you, and I think you could tell."

"Ah, oh. Um, yes. I mean, not just yes. Oh!" Aziraphale felt his hands flutter into the air. "I've never done this before!"

"Not ever?" Crowley sat back on his heels, so he was sitting below Aziraphale's level. His expression looked as shocked as his voice sounded. "Like...even in college?"

"Dear me, no!" Aziraphale felt his heart calming, rubbing his palm against his pants leg. His other hand was still caught up in Crowley's. "I was much too busy studying." He bit at his lower lip. "My parents weren't happy. When I told them."

He felt his hand squeezed as Crowley smiled at him? "Yeah? Shit, I'm sorry. Figures though, you'd be a perfect angel."

"I was certainly not!" He frowned at Crowley. "Though I suppose compared to you…."

"Me?" Crowley flattened his hand against his own chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Our first meeting was you with a flock of women around you, and you challenged me to pick up a woman!"

Crowley barked a laugh, causing Adam to yell something that sounded vaguely threatening from the living room. "You did that all on your own!" He pursed his lips, but it did nothing to conceal his smile. "So maybe we should stop and talk about things first?"

"Yes. I am— Yes. Thank you. I mean, you shouldn't have to—"

"No 'shouldn't' about it! I'm just glad I didn't read...well...this wrong." Crowley stood and Aziraphale felt himself drawn upwards to his own feet.

"Ah, well, I mean—" Aziraphale swallowed again, looking at their joined hand. Crowley's fingers twitched at his stare. "I didn't think you were...you know."

"Yeah? Something we can talk about...angel."

Aziraphale's head snapped up, lips parted in surprise. "That is not becoming a thing!"

Laughing again, Crowley walked to the door. "Something else we can talk about. Next week?"

He didn't know how he had found the man. Had Crowley found him instead? For a moment, the words destiny and soulmates swirled in his mind, and he dismissed them with a shake of his head. Far better to stay rooted in reality. They needed to talk!

"You're getting pale again. You're not going to faint on me, are you?"

Crowley was eyeing him with a grin, but he thought those eyebrows showed actual concern. "No. No, I'm fine. I...I overthink."

"Yeah. Same." The smile softened. "Shall we join your son and make sure he doesn't kill us?" Crowley opened the door. "We're coming out!"

"Okay," Adam yelled back.

"Is he trying to kill us?"

Crowley nodded, guiding Aziraphale back out of the room. "Yep. He's a villain. We have to stop him. He'll likely have monsters to help him. We gotta concentrate on stopping whatever he's trying to start."

Aziraphale's lips pressed thin, attempting to look very serious. "Right. We'll defeat him!"

"You'll never defeat me," Adam proclaimed, standing in front of the couch and pointing at them as they entered the living room. "Hah-hah! I shall win this day!"

Striking a remarkably heroic pose, Crowley pointed back. "You will rue the day you thought to turn on Aziraphale and Crowley!"

As they both turned expectantly to Aziraphale, he cleared his throat. "Oh, um, thou art a traitor!"

"Shakespeare?" Crowley laughed, leading him to the couch. Adam moved to the chair before Aziraphale could resume sitting there, and the smile he shot Aziraphale was both happy and conniving.

Aziraphale sat down slowly beside Crowley, narrowing his eyes at Adam to let him know what he thought of his antics, and then turned to smile at Crowley. He was lounging sideways on the couch, limbs askew and seeming half-off the couch's seat. "I'm surprised you noticed it."

"Eh, I like Hamlet," Crowley stated, shrugging and leaning forward to grab the rule-book that said Secrets of Survival. "Okay, so from here Adam has to kill us. We have to stop him or escape."

"Escape? I rather think not. I definitely want to stop him. What a vile, evil man he is!" Aziraphale grinned at Adam.

Crowley began to separate out tokens, putting some in a room with a pentagram on it and scattering the others throughout various rooms. "Alright. We gotta get to painting." Then he leaned over toward Aziraphale, holding the book up to show a part of the page. "See? We have to do that. Don't worry too much about the finer details."

Aziraphale glanced from the page to Crowley's face, close to his own, and felt his face warm. "I'm sure I can reference it if needed."

"Or you can reference me…."

"Okay, so you guys aren't even in the same room."

Adam's voice brought them back to the room and the game being played, and Crowley leaned back in his seat, grinning indolently. "You're right." They had been pretending to long-distance communicate by pretend walkie-talkies since the game began, and now Crowley held up a hand to his mouth and made a hissing noise before he spoke. "Aziraphale, you there, over?"

Aziraphale sighed, smiling at his antics, but he obliged him by holding a hand up. "I am, my dear. Are you safe, over?"

Crowley's hand lowered, eyes widening at something, as he shifted on the couch, and then he straightened more and held his hand back up. "Uh, yeah. Fine as...can be in this place. Adam turned traitor on us! We gotta get to the pentagram room and stop his ritual!"

"I'll be right there!" Then Aziraphale made the same hissing noise, which resulted in Adam laughing and Crowley slapping his knee and beaming. It was a beautiful smile.

The rest of the game was played out, culminating in them all engaged in the pentagram room, where Aziraphale managed to finally paint over the last symbol to stop the evil ritual Adam was conducting.

"Hah! We win!" Crowley threw his hands triumphantly into the air.

"We did, didn't we?" Aziraphale felt the triumphant wiggle of his shoulders and nodded. "That was fun!"

Adam nodded, chiming in, "It was! I don't mind that I lost. Evil should lose."

Aziraphale grinned. "Good always triumphs over evil. Evil carries the seeds of its own destruction." He heard Crowley scoff and turned with a raised brow.

Crowley held up both hands. "I'm not going to try to argue with you right now. You've got a self righteous air around you. I know how to pick my battles."

"Self righteous?" Aziraphale frowned, glancing at Adam to see if he would take his side.

"I mean, you're right, dad, good should triumph, but you get kind of smarmy about it."

"Well, I never! Even my own child conspires against me!" He turned to see Crowley bent over, laughing so hard it might have been crying. "I'm glad you're getting amusement out of my pain," he grumbled with a smile.

"S-sorry," Crowley spluttered. "I, um, oh, wow…. I haven't laughed this hard in ages!" He leaned his head back against the couch and ran a hand over his face.

"Are you alright? Do you need any water?"

"No, I'm fine. Felt great!" Crowley straightened, looking over at Aziraphale and placing a hand on his leg. "Wanna play again?"

"Yes," Adam crowed.

Aziraphale smiled, reaching out a hand to tentatively place over Crowley's before he squeezed it. "Yes, I would."

Beaming, Crowley leaned in, sliding his hand from under Aziraphale's to set the board up again. Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders again, smiled at his son, and prepared to spend the rest of the night enjoying Crowley's company with his son.

He was most pleased by the banter between his son and Crowley, and he tried not to think about the future conversation they would be having because of...the bedroom incident, as his mind helpfully labeled.

There would be time later to worry about. For now, he was going to enjoy the rest of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big apologies for this being so late. I wasn't able to write it in week, and then I became sick. It was most frustrating since I was nearly done and then lost several days to the illness. Chapter 8 will be late as well. Good news is you get an extra chapter! This chapter got lengthened because I wanted some Crowley and Adam time. It certainly didn't end where I thought it would, but that's okay.
> 
> The next chapter is the one I've been waiting for! Also the board game is totally real and I pulled it from my own copy of it. It's so fun and is a great game for groups of 3 or more. :D
> 
> https://www.ultraboardgames.com/betrayal-at-house-on-the-hill/game-rules.php for more info.


	8. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The talk is nigh. What is it Aziraphale and Crowley need to tell each other? Will Aziraphale suddenly needing to see Crowley push this talk to a breaking point...or will they find out communicating with each other isn't so hard after all?

Crowley was trying not to think about the future talk with Aziraphale. The bedroom incident, as Crowley was now calling it, had been a wake-up call for not just Aziraphale, it seemed. There were things Aziraphale needed to tell Crowley, sure, but there were obviously things Crowley needed to tell Aziraphale.

"Obviously," she sneered, staring down into her glass of whiskey. She swirled the liquid in her glass to listen to the chime of the ice and ran a hand carefully through her long hair. It was a wig, but the same red color as her cropped cut capped underneath it. Sometimes she didn't wear the wig, but the feeling of long hair tugging through her fingers was soothing tonight. Besides, she knew she looked really good with long hair.

"Hey, you alone?"

Crowley turned to flash a smile at the woman who was leaning against the bar. Of course, Crowley was far outside of Tadfield. That little town didn't have bars like this, that hosted people she felt more comfortable being herself around. "Hey back! Yeah, I guess I am. Not looking for a hook-up to be up-front. Wouldn't mind chatting though," she responded.

"Whew, you are up-front!" The woman held out her hand. "Amanda. I wouldn't mind just chatting, though I am looking for a hook-up!" She waggled her brows and sat down beside Crowley.

"Crowley. Uh, it's just my last name." She ran her black painted nails down the simple grey dress she wore and smiled.

"Crowley's a good name." The smile felt warm as it was directed towards Crowley. "Do you come here often?"

"Off and on since I, um, moved out of the city. When my business allows."

"What do you do for a living?"

The conversation was polite and neutral, relaxing Crowley's tension. She didn't know why she felt so tense, but it still felt like a new experience every time. "Ah, I'm just a florist."

"Just?" She raised an eyebrow, and Crowley could admit she was charmed. "It sounds like a tough job."

"Toughest part is the customers. What do you do?" She leaned against the bar, taking another sip of her drink.

"I'm a sec--oh no, administrative assistant."

"Did secretary become a bad thing to call people?"

"Ugh, I don't even know."

"Hah, who does?" Crowley reached down as she felt a buzz against her leg. She fumbled into her purse as she recognized a call coming in on her phone. "Oh, sorry. Hold on." Pulling the phone out, she bit at her bottom lip at the name showing on the screen. "Uh, I gotta take this."

As she slid off the stool, the woman talking to her said something. It was probably some nice goodbye or a promise to talk to her later, but Crowley's eyes were staring at the phone screen in something like mild dread.

Pushing her way through the crowd either talking, flirting, or dancing, she made her way to the restroom and shoved the door open with her hip, quickly finding a stall so she could put the phone to her ear and answer it.

"Aziraphale, hi."

"Oh, I know it's terribly late. I'm not bothering you, am I?"

"Oh, no. No, not at all. Just at a...club. What's going on?"

"You are busy! I'm sorry. I just…. Well, it's silly."

"No, it really is fine." She spoke slower, breathed in and out more. Aziraphale couldn't see her. This was what she was worried about though. She had to tell Aziraphale about...all of this. There was no way she was going to hide it with someone she might want a relationship with. "Please, talk to me."

"Ah, you're so—" There was a brief pause, an inhale, and then Aziraphale continued. "I think I'm rather ready for our talk. I know it's such a random time, but I just—"

"Suddenly felt ready? Yeah. Yeah, I think I am too. Um—" Now it was Crowley's turn to pause. Would it be fair to show up like this? She remembered the last time she'd just shown up like this unannounced in public. That had been a fit of pique. This was different. "I'm going to just come over like I am. It'll...be different. I can't really explain over the phone."

"Oh, do come over in whatever makes you comfortable, Crowley. I don't care what you look like. I like you for being you."

She needed to report a murder. Aziraphale did not have to kill her like that. Pressing a hand to her chest, she nodded and then remembered he couldn't see her. "Y-yes. I mean, yes. I'll come as I am so...don't— Ugh…." She laughed. "I'll come over. We'll talk."

"Yes, we'll talk, my dear."

"I'll see you in a bit, Aziraphale."

"Drive safe."

"Definitely!" She hung up the line, smiled down at her phone like a fool, and then slid the phone back into her purse. On the way to close her tab, she stopped at where she'd been sitting, but the woman she had been talking to, name forgotten by now, was gone. Both seats were taken.

Not bothered in the least — there was a good chance she'd meet her again to talk if they both came to this same place — Crowley paid her tab and walked out to the Bentley. She realized she should have told Aziraphale how long it would take to get there and pulled her phone back out to text him as she buckled herself in.

_sorry forgot to say am actually in town will take a bit to get back to tad. hope that's okay_

_Yes, that's quite fine. I am so sorry for ruining your evening._

Crowley smiled and huffed at the words, typing out, _you ruined nothing i'll be there in about an hour_

_We really need to have a talk about your grammar._

_oh its just text!!! ;)_

_Is that a face? It is! That's adorable. See you soon! :D_

Shaking his head, Crowley put the phone away, starting the drive to Aziraphale's home. She tried not to think of what was going to happen very shortly, but it was impossible not to as she felt her skirt push and pull with the movement of her foot from brake to gas.

Turning up the music higher, Crowley drowned out the roiling of her stomach by singing or humming along to whatever was on the radio. It at least worked for most of the trip back.

Pulling up in front of Aziraphale's apartment, Crowley turned off the Bentley. She stared at her painted nails resting against the steering wheel. She needed to get out and go to his door. She needed to knock and wait for him to open it so she could see and hear his reaction.

She didn't want to.

Sighing, she reached into her purse, pulling out her phone again. _hey weird ask but can you come out to me?_

There was a brief pause and then a response. _Certainly. One moment while I put on a jacket._

Her fingers tapped out a rhythm on the steering wheel as she waited. Within moments, she heard the door close and looked over, watching Aziraphale walk to the Bentley. He hesitated at the door, fingers twisting through the window, and then opened it to sit down. The sound of the door closing echoed.

Crowley couldn't look away as Aziraphale turned to look at him. It was like getting a shot at the doctor's. She knew some people couldn't watch, but it was easier if she saw what was happening.

"Oh." Aziraphale breathed out, eyes going wide as he took in Crowley's appearance. Crowley always hated not knowing what people were thinking. She always filled in the blanks in her head. "Hello."

"Hi," she said softly. It felt ridiculous, but it was a hopeful start.

"I really did ruin your evening, didn't I?"

"Uh…." She was at a loss. This was too casual right? It was too nonchalant.

"I mean, you look lovely. Is this what you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah. Yeah, some of it."

"Well, that's alright then." Then Aziraphale smiled.

She stared hard at that smile, trying to interpret it. It was bright and clear and charming. It looked sincere. It even felt sincere. "You're...okay with this?"

Aziraphale pressed his lips shut, but he still smiled. "I think I am yes. I suppose I might have questions, but those can wait, can't they?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, they can wait. I mean, not that they aren't important!"

"I know what you mean, my dear." His hand lifted then, hovered in the air for a moment, and then laid softly over-top one of Crowley's on the steering wheel. "Do you feel alright coming inside? We can have a tart. I just got them this morning."

"Really?" She couldn't believe her luck. Who was this wonderful man? "What flavor?"

"Definitely some treacle, though I, of course, got some Bakewell as well." He wiggled his shoulders, and Crowley felt her heart melt.

Smiling, she turned her hand in Aziraphale's and squeezed, watching him duck his head in what had to be the prettiest blush. "Thank you." She turned then to get out of the car, before she did something foolish and kissed Aziraphale. She didn't think it would be fair to smear red lipstick on his cheek when he most likely was still adjusting.

The walk inside the apartment was quiet, but it didn't feel as if there was outside tension. Glancing at Aziraphale, he could see him staring in front of him with pursed lips and relaxed eyes. His hands didn't even fumble with the keys, unlocking and opening the door smoothly.

Pausing by the door to take off his jacket, Crowley watched Aziraphale look back as she cleared her throat. "Do you mind if I take off these shoes?" She waved a hand down to her high heels, a soft gray to match her dress.

"I don't mind at all. How do you not break your ankle wearing them?"

"Lots of practice. Believe it or not I just walk around the house with these on." She smiled as she toed them off, moving past him to sit at her usual place on the comfortable couch. "Um, sober or…?"

Aziraphale turned to watch Crowley, staring for a moment as if— Well, he could see her better with the lights on. He was getting a decent look now. "I think a little drink wouldn't hurt, don't you?" Aziraphale smiled.

"A little one, yeah. I was having whiskey earlier."

"I have a good whiskey in the cabinet." Aziraphale turned, hurrying over to a cabinet he opened the doors on to reveal a lovely supply of alcohol in bottles. He pulled out one after a moment and closed the doors. Atop the cabinet were glasses and, selecting two, he made his way back to set them on the table. "Iced?"

"Yes, please. Thanks."

Aziraphale busied himself with the drinks while Crowley stared at her hands. She always noticed how she sat differently in a dress. Gone was her usual sprawl. Her knees were pressed together, elbows at her sides. She liked the way her dress pressed against her and her legs felt naked.

Crowley watched Aziraphale take a deep breath as she leaned forward to take her own drink in hand. Aziraphale sipped at the whiskey and smiled. "You...might have realized by now that I've never done this."

"I had hints, yeah." Crowley smiled and took a long drink of the whiskey. It was much better than the one at the bar. "Um, but that's okay. I don't mind. I just—"

"I do like you."

"Oh, well, I like you too." It was the lamest thing she'd ever said. "I mean, I like—"

"You like like me?" Aziraphale was smiling as if it were a joke.

It was a pretty funny way to say it, but maybe it was easier too. "Yes. I like like you. I'd pass you a note that asks if you like me and wait for you to check yes or no," she chuckled.

"I'd say yes," Aziraphale responded in all seriousness.

Swallowing, Crowley nodded. She felt so warm all over. That was perfectly normal. "I would too. I mean, if you sent me a note."

Aziraphale laughed then, his head tipping back. He looked so wonderfully happy. He looked gorgeous. "You do look lovely, my dear."

Being complimented while mentally complimenting someone else was a head turner. "Ah, thank you." She rested the glass between her legs and ran her hands over the edges already layered with light condensation. "Have you...told anyone? I mean—"

"No." He took another breath that sounded fortifying and blew it out. "I'm gay."

Crowley stared at him for a moment while Aziraphale looked back unblinkingly before she realized she should respond. "Oh! Well...congratulations!"

There was a beat of silence before Aziraphale burst into raucous laughter. Crowley felt his entire face go bright red. It had been a stupid response. "My dear!" She physically jumped when Aziraphale squeaked between his peals of laughter.

"I'm sorry! That was so…. I've never had anyone...come out to me."

"It's fine! No, it was the perfect response." Reaching over, Aziraphale clasped both of Crowley's hands in his own. "It's been such a big deal to me. I suppose because...of my parents...and my own silly fears."

Scooting closer on the couch, Crowley smiled. "Hey, they're not entirely silly. It might be more...accepted right now, but you still have to be careful. Like, well, no one at my old job knew about this." She held Aziraphale's hand as she made a wave at her dress. "And when they found out…."

"Did they fire you?"

"Nah. That's illegal. They made me...uncomfortable though. My, uh, my therapist and I talked. That's why I came to Tadfield. A new start. A new life. I wanted to be me. I didn't want to hide...so much. I still am but—"

"I think you're very brave."

"Wha-what?" Crowley didn't think brave was the right word. She'd literally run away from things. Even if she and her therapist both agreed it was best to get out of such a toxic situation.

"You wanted to be you, and if that meant quitting your job, coming to a new town, and starting your own business, well, you were going to do it. I can't imagine—" Aziraphale pursed his lips. "I don't know that I could do it."

"But...aren't you," Crowley hedged.

"Aren't I what?"

The confused expression on Aziraphale's face was adorable. She smiled, releasing one of his hands to press her own hand to his face. Aziraphale inhaled sharply, but he didn't draw away. "Brave. Maybe you aren't being dramatic about it, but you're doing it. Everyone does it differently. You have to feel comfortable and safe, and that can take time and....well, effort. It doesn't just come to you."

"Oh, well, I don't really think—"

"You should think. You're living on your own. Having a friend over. Accepting me inside and making me feel welcome when I'm, uh, female-presenting. Coming out to me." Crowley smiled. "That's brave. Makes me feel pretty special too. So, yeah, I guess congratulations is a good thing to say!"

"I guess so." There was color high on Aziraphale's cheeks, and Crowley wanted to press a kiss there.

Instead, she let her hand fall and nodded. "I haven't...revealed this to anyone yet who knows me, um, male-presenting. So the words to use are new. I mean, I haven't revealed it on purpose."

"What—? I mean, you don't have to say, but what happened?"

Crowley sighed, running a hand through her longer hair. "I was out at a bar. Someone from work was there. They, um, hit on me. I turned them down, but they recognized me. They spread it all over work so…."

"That's horrible! How terrible of them," Aziraphale spat. "Why I've half a mind to call that company up and give them a piece of my mind!"

Smiling, Crowley squeezed his hand. "I did report it all to their human resources before I left. Last I heard, a lot of people were in trouble, but I didn't want to stay. It...wasn't a good place, obviously."

"Obviously! I think...well you look so good! Not that it would matter if— I'm fumbling."

"I understand." She smiled at Aziraphale. "You said...I'm still me."

"You are!"

"But if you're, um, gay…."

"Oh, well…." Aziraphale's free hand fumbled over his waistcoat. "I can't say— I'm not sure if I, um, always feel...sexual attraction." He was flushed again.

"Oh! Oh, asexuality? Or, I guess it's grey asexuality? Labels are…." Crowley helped herself by holding a flattened hand up and wriggling it side to side. "Yeah, no that's...it should be normal. I mean…." Crowley laughed. "I'm horrible at this!"

"I'm no better!" Aziraphale smiled. "More to drink?"

"Great idea!" They released each other's hand, and Crowley took a deep drink of the whiskey, leaning back against the cushions. "So...here's where we are. I'm nonbinary. You're gay and at least gray asexual—"

"Can you be gay and asexual?"

"Of course!" Crowley threw a hand up dramatically. "You could not want sex at all but want to be romantic with someone. Spend time with them and go out on dates and get to really know them and get close and just not do the touching and the kissing—"

"I rather think I'd like to do the kissing."

That stopped Crowley. She felt her heart stutter in her chest. "Yo-you would? Like...right now?"

"Maybe."

"But I'm—"

This time Aziraphale chuckled. "I know. But it's still you. I'm still...um...gay?"

Crowley laughs. "Of course you are. If you say you are," she affirmed.

"Good then. Just a light one?"

"I can do a light one." She'd never had to announce her intentions before, to plot it out like this, but it was a little exciting. There wasn't a real nervousness there, questioning if it was wanted. It was wanted. It was anticipation instead.

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley, smiling as he ducked his head down. Crowley, at least, knew how to do a proper chaste kiss. Smiling, she leaned forward, placing a finger under Aziraphale's chin to raise it slightly. His lips parted, but Crowley would be nice. She'd be slow.

Aziraphale deserved someone being slow and going at his pace.

Closing the distance between them, Crowley pressed red-stained lips to Aziraphale's mouth, resting them there for a moment. Aziraphale was tense, and Crowley thought his eyes might be open, but she closed hers and waited.

Aziraphale made a noise. It was soft and questioning, and Crowley's lips curved into a smile before she pressed them against Aziraphale firmly. The sound he made that time was a squeak, and then what might have been a moan. She wasn't sure that she hadn't made that noise though.

Tilting her head sealed the press of their lips together, and Crowley felt a hand glide over her waist. It made the skin there twitch pleasantly. Leaning back, she smiled as Aziraphale opened his eyes, blinking as if he was coming back to where he was. "That alright?"

"Y-yes. I think so. No, I mean yes. It's very alright. It feels nice." He smiled and his fingers tapped on her dress. "Is this okay?"

"It feels nice," she repeated. "Do you want to kiss more?"

"I--I think I need to breathe for a moment."

"Alright." Leaning back, she smiled smugly as Aziraphale took some time to adjust his bowtie. "You got a disheveled look now. I like it."

"Disheveled? Well….." The haughty tone made him laugh. "You're just...very practiced."

"Ever since I got the lead role in Twelfth Night, I've been practicing."

"Really?" Aziraphale's tension fled as he gaped at Crowley. "You were in theatre?"

"Yeah, I was one of the theatre kids," Crowley chuckled. "I liked it. That play in particular too. Made me think about things."

"I suppose it would." Aziraphale paused for a moment. "I was in theatre during university for a bit."

"You were?"

"Yes. I, um, it was part of my rebellious stage."

"Rebellious?" Crowley leaned forward and smirked. "Tell me that story!"

Laughing, Aziraphale took another drink and nodded. "I had just told my parents. They hadn't reacted well. I felt so...twisted up inside. I was angry, but I didn't know how to act angry. I saw a flyer for theatre tryouts, not sponsored by the university, for a stage production of a movie that was quite risque. I'm not sure whether I really was doing it as an act of rebellion or if—"

"If," Crowley prompted.

"If I wasn't sure I wasn't fooling myself. Maybe I was straight?"

"Ah." Crowley swallowed, tipping her head back. Then she took a drink, straightening again. "What movie was it?"

"Dirty Dancing?"

Crowley was glad she had swallowed already. "It was what? That's— You think Dirty Dancing was risque? They did a play stage of it?" She wasn't sure what she was more offended by.

"It is too risque!" Aziraphale had no right to have a pout that adorable. She could still taste him on her lips too. "It was quite adult for its time. It wasn't something to show a child."

"I watched it! I mean, I wasn't a kid, but still…. It got a little steamy."

"Yes, with the dancing."

"It was called Dirty Dancing."

Aziraphale slanted an annoyed glare at him. "Exactly. So I tried out. I somehow got the part, but it was a low-budget thing. Not many were signing up for it. I got the main part."

"The main part?"

"Yes, Patrick Swayze's. I had no idea who he was at the time—"

"You what?"

"--but we were all told to go home and watch the movie. I was quite, well, mortified when I saw...how he looked."

"He looks like Patrick Swayze."

Aziraphale huffed. "He looks like a fit and handsome man."

"Well, you're a handsome man."

"And you are infuriating!"

"Am I?" Crowley cocked a brow at Aziraphale, grinning at his obvious frustration. "I know you're trying to talk down about yourself. You can't. They picked you for the role, so you must've been as nice as him."

"Well…."

"You are, aren't you? He was a nice man in that movie."

"Well, yes."

"See? I like Patrick Swayze cause he's a nice man. I like you cause you're a nice man. I think you're both handsome."

"Yes, but if he were here—"

"What would you do if he were here?"

Aziraphale's cheeks went pink. "That's not the point…."

"Exactly. So you're Patrick Swayze in this story. It's now my favorite story. Go on."

Flinging a hand upward as if he were tossing the debate away, Aziraphale continued. "I was quite intimidated by my role, but I had a point to prove. Mind you, I still didn't know what that point was. So I dedicated myself to….learning it all, including that one lift. I became very good at it, but when it came time for the curtains to rise, for me to actually perform in front of a crowd…. I'm sad to say I just couldn't. My understudy had to take over."

"It's not for everyone," Crowley sympathized. "You said you...learned to do the lift really well? You mean the part where Patrick Swayze lifts Baby into the air? You can do that?"

"Um, yes. I had to learn all the dance moves."

Crowley hadn't watched the movie since it came out, but he recalled scenes of grinding and— The dancing was sexual in most places. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Um, some of it." Aziraphale's face was growing pink. "I liked doing the lift. I didn't want to drop her, and I must've done it right."

"Can you still do it?"

Aziraphale's face went blank. "C-can I what?"

"Well, I've seen you lift a bunch of heavy stuff like it was nothing, so lifting me— I weigh seventy kilos wet!" Crowley grinned. "And it doesn't have to be a perfect, um—"

"Lift. It's called a lift. It wouldn't be. We could hurt ourselves." Aziraphale chewed at his lower lip, and Crowley could feel his eyes rake over him. It made her shiver.

"Is there a safe way to do it? I mean, if you wanted to."

"If I wanted to….then we could move the furniture. You'd have to trust me to catch you." Aziraphale smiled. "You're supposed to do a balancing act, arching up above me while I hold you. So...I could just lift you halfway and then bring you back down."

Crowley grinned, scooting in closer and drawing her legs up, being mindful of her dress. She pressed her thighs to Aziraphale's. "I trust you. Maybe you can teach me a real lift."

Aziraphale laughed. "In the play, we had to pretend to do it in water since it's 'easier to learn in water,' as the movie says." Shaking his head, he patted at Crowley's leg before standing. "Well, you seem set on this. Let's move the couch."

So far Crowley had been entirely dignified in her dress, but now she scrambled up without a care for what happened, slipping off the couch and standing to move to one side of the couch. She gripped the edge and grinned. "Okay!"

Aziraphale chuckled. "Alright, my dear." Grabbing the other side of the couch, he hefted it up and kept Crowley's slow pace as she attempted not to drag her end. "There. Just against the wall. And the coffee table…." They worked to move it against the wall as well.

"Okay!" Crowley clapped her hands. "Now, uh, what?"

"Now I am going to stand on one end of the room, and you shall stand on the other. All you have to do is jog at me and then jump when you get close. I am going to brace myself and catch you around the waist. We won't be too far apart, and I won't lift you up too far."

"Okay. And, uh, what bad things can happen?"

"Good point," Aziraphale agreed, though Crowley hadn't been trying to make a point. He bustled toward the bedroom and came back with an arm-full of pillows, which he laid out on the ground and then stood in front of. "There. More than likely we'll tip backwards, but this way we won't be bruised."

Crowley laughed. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"Oh, uh, I mean— I'm glad you want to...do this. I mean, the whole thing. You do, right?"

Smiling, Crowley walked until she was across from Aziraphale with enough room for a running start. "Yes. Of course I do. You're— Aziraphale, I really like you. I don't mind, well, I don't mind if we aren't, uh, physical? Maybe we'll kiss more. Maybe one day you'll say you don't want that. That's fine. I mean, you're gorgeous. Beautiful really. I've noticed that since the beginning."

"You did? I thought…. Well, I rather thought you were teasing me."

"Nah. I liked your style. I liked how...confident you were."

Aziraphale shifted his legs, bending his knees and holding his arms ready in front of him with fingers splayed. "I was drunk, Crowley."

"i think we both were. My point still stands. So just...run at you and jump?"

"Yes." Aziraphale smiled. "I'll catch you."

Taking a breath, Crowley ran at Aziraphale. Her stomach flipped upwards unexpectedly as she jumped right before she got to his hands. She saw Aziraphale's arms draw towards her and closed her eyes.

She felt those hands wrap around her waist, lifting her up fast and strong. Her own hands clasped at Aziraphale's arms, feeling muscles tense with strain. Opening her eyes, she stared down into Aziraphale's smiling face, brows furrowed with concentration.

"I've got you."

The nervous jitter inside her smoothed into warmth. "You do." She didn't mean to sound surprised, but she looked down to see him holding her upwards. It didn't look to be causing him duress either. "You're really strong!"

Chuckling, he lifted her up further. "We can do more, I think. Go ahead and try to stretch out. Put your heads above your head and swing your legs backwards slowly. Arch your back."

Swallowing, Crowley did what felt like was following instructions. Usually her body just melted when she walked or sat down. She didn't have to consciously think about it, but now, flattening her body out felt like an Olympic feat. "L-like this?"

"Yes, that's good enough." He heard a grunt as she shifted. "Oh, that's a bit too—"

She felt them tipping backwards, and her body automatically reacted, drawing in on Aziraphale. She felt him pull her towards his body, and then Aziraphale's back struck the pillows with a muffled thump. Letting out a surprised squeak, she felt their bodies jostle and hurried to sit up, peering at Aziraphale with wide eyes. "Are you alright?"

Aziraphale's eyes were just as round. "Oh...oh I think so. The wind. Knocked right out of me. Are you okay?"

Sitting up further to straddle Aziraphale, she ran hands over her body and then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, everything checks out fine." She smiled. "That was really dangerous!" She couldn't help the excitement she felt. They were alive after all.

Aziraphale chuckled, his hands sliding from her back to her waist. They stayed there. "That's what the pillows were for. Water does make it easier, but perhaps being sober as well."

"Oh, we aren't that drunk!"

"You're slurring, my dear."

"Well you are too!" She leaned down, grinning impishly and admiring how her hair fell around them in a red curtain. "You're so handsome."

"W-well," Aziraphale stuttered, blushing as he looked up at her. "Thank you, my dear. You're...quite stunning yourself."

"Can I have another kiss?" She even kicked up her legs, wriggling her feet in the air. "Just like the last one?"

A hand left her waist and tucked her hair behind her ear. "I think I would like that," Aziraphale whispered.

It felt different from sitting up to kiss like this. Lying down and kissing always carried more weight to it in Crowley's mind. It was usually a prelude to naked activities, but it wasn't this time. That was surprisingly relaxing. The kiss was soft again, light and warm, and then Aziraphale made a noise and curled that hand at her waist around her further. Crowely moved with the prodding, lying down on top of Aziraphale and only breaking the kiss to shift more comfortably.

When she was chest to chest with Aziraphale, he leaned back and smiled. "You're very beautiful. I mean, right now and before right now too."

"Thank you," Crowley mumbled. Aziraphale could make her feel so bashful! It was refreshing, to be caught off-guard like this. "Mm, do you want to go on a date?"

Blinking up at her, Aziraphale's face went slack. "I-I, uh— A first date?"

Crowley laughed, reaching a hand down with painted nails to poke at Aziraphale's nose. He went cross-eyed and wrinkled it, frowning. "If you want, this can be our first date. I think it qualifies. So a second date, and neither of us have to be as nervous?"

"That...makes sense." He relaxed underneath her, smiling. "Kisses are for first dates, after all."

"And falling backwards onto pillows."

"You fell forwards."

"I fell onto you…and you're so comfortable!" She dared to lay her head down on his chest. She felt his breath hitch for the second time that night, and then his free hand curled into her hair.

"You're comfortable too," he said in that soft voice.

Crowley smiled, turning her head so she could feel his shirt under his lips. "Let's lay like this for a bit, and then we can watch a movie."

"Order some pizza?" Aziraphale wiggled underneath her, but she assumed that was to get comfortable.

"You eat pizza?"

"Occasionally. Adam's gotten me used to it. I do prefer pineapple."

She didn't jerk her head up in astonishment at that blasphemous statement because Aziraphale's chest was plush and warm and smelled good. "No! That's horrible! Pineapple is a fruit! It doesn't go on pizza!"

"Tomato is a fruit, my dear—"

"Oh no! Tomato is classified by the...food officials as a vegetable! Don't you try that on me! I know plants!"

"Food officials?" Crowley could hear the laughter in his voice. His hand was carding through Crowley's hair, so she could forgive the tone.

"I don't know what they're called."

"Pineapple is perfec—"

"You are on thin ice!"

"What are you going to do exactly?"

If that wasn't a challenge, Crowley didn't know what was. "I'll lay here til morning!"

"Oh, I'd better behave then. Horrid punishment!"

"It sure is," she agreed, grinning. "In fact, I'll give you a little taste of it right now." Then she turned to nuzzle under Aziraphale's chin.

He issued a tiny squeak, jumped, and then laughed. "You didn't say you'd wiggle!"

"Like a snake getting warm."

"Well...I don't mind keeping you warm, but I believe my back is twinging."

"Oh!" Crowley planted hands and knees to either side of Aziraphale, feeling like a snakey kind of giraffe as she clambered off of him gracelessly. "Sorry!"

Aziraphale was laughing as he sat up. "No. It's fine. I probably need to stretch more before dancing moves anyways. We could learn the foxtrot."

"Could we?" She moved to the side, holding down a hand and clasping hands warmly with Aziraphale to pull him upwards. When he was on his feet, she smiled and smoothed a hand over his cheek. "I'd like that. You're okay with the touching? I like to touch."

"This kind of touch is quite fine. I think the, uh, the—"

"Naughty touching?" She smirked as Aziraphale went pink.

"Yes. The naug-naughty touching will be an experiment."

"Scientific?"

"Oh, you."

Crowley grinned, taking Aziraphale's hand and leading them to the couch again. "What movie?"

"Dirty Dancing?"

"Why not? I like Patrick. He was a good guy."

"The movie tells a good story. The romance doesn't quite enthrall, but it has the trope of two leads fighting against each other at first."

"Didn't you say you like that sort of thing?"

"It's not Jane Austin, but yes, I do enjoy that trope." Aziraphale was smiling at her, reaching a hand to rest on her leg as he reached for the remote with the other.

Crowley pursed her lips, thinking back to that conversation. "Aren't we kind of like that?" She caught the guilty shuffle of Aziraphale's eyes to the side even as he searched for Dirty Dancing on the television. "Hah! We are! You like it!"

"I have no idea what you mean, my dear."

"I love it when you're all snooty." Crowley's breath hitched, and then she laughed, nervously, at her word choice and leaned over to kiss Aziraphale's cheek to cover it all up.

"Oh, well….good. Now let's watch this movie."

She didn't know if Aziraphale was just being gracious or also had a moment of mild panic, but she was happy to tuck herself into his side, enjoy the arm that draped over her shoulder, and watch Dirty Dancing with Aziraphale.

And if they ate greasy pizza, drank until their vision blurred, and crashed on the couch until morning, that was no one's business but their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this was what I wrote over 35k to get to. My favorite scene in Crazy, Stupid, Love is when they do the Dirty Dancing lift. It was sexy and fun and then they just talked all night and didn't even have sex and it was the best part!
> 
> I honestly had no idea if the sex would happen in this story, but if it was going to happen, this would have been the chapter. For that reason, I've lowered the rating on this fic. There shall be no sexy times, but I hope you enjoy this light-hearted and tender moment.
> 
> I know the labels and such are messy, but....I am a messy labeled person who usually either dumps all my labels on a person or goes 'queer' as a catch-all. :P Labels can shift as well, so who knows what I'll be in five years, right?
> 
> I hope this made you smile. Last chapter coming! :D


	9. The Speech

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are attending Adam's graduation, complete with a speech and a cameo from Warlock. Why is Crowley so nervous? Featuring a speech I wrote myself to celebrate Pride.

"You didn't," Azirahpahle gasped, shifting on the edge of the bed as he watched Crowley dig through their closet. He had asked Crowley about pronouns — once he had found out that was something to ask about — and Crowley had said they'd let him know what pronouns to use. This week Crowley said they wanted to try out they and them pronouns.

"I did! I mean, it probably wasn't, uh, recommended by my therapist, but I walked in to grab my stuff in a dress. It was a nice dress too!"

"Are you going to wear it tonight?"

"Should I?"

Aziraphale heard more rummaging in the closet and then she reappeared with a green dress that immediately brought vibrancy to her red hair. Aziraphale could admit he disliked the wig, but that wasn't a conversation for now, and his reasons were selfish. He liked running his fingers through Crowley's hair. "Is that it?" He didn't know anything about dresses, but it looked nice. "It looks nice."

"Looks nice?" Crowley huffed, walking to the bed with an unfair amount of hip swaying. "Just looks nice?" There was a teasing smile to her stained lips.

"It's on a hanger, my dear, and not you," Aziraphale pointed out. He didn't move as Crowley sat down beside him, tilting up his head and offering his cheek for the lips pressed lightly there. He felt fingers crush over his skin and smiled. "I'm sure you looked devastating in it."

Crowley's grin grew. "Devastating? You know how to compliment a woman." Aziraphale felt a leg press against his own and leaned into her side. "Are you nervous?"

"Very nervous. Are you?"

"Yeah. Do you think anyone will recognize me?"

"Do you want them to?"

"I have no idea. A part of me thinks if they do, I'll be ripping the bandaid off. There will be questions, and I still open shop on Monday." Her manicured hand came up to cover half her face. "Maybe I shouldn't…."

"You don't have to. You can wait. You never have to even. You know that, right?"

"But if I don't...they'll know about you."

Aziraphale barked a laugh, placing a hand over Crowley's to draw it away and into his lap. "I believe no one will be surprised. I happen to fit all of the stereotypes."

Crowley snorted as she side-eyed him. "Bullshit. You're just British."

Blinking as it took a moment for the comment to register, Aziraphale leaned in, giggling as he pressed a kiss to startled, slightly parted lips. "You're wonderful! Listen, we've got an hour. Let's...let's take a cab and have a drink together." Pausing, he pressed his forehead to Crowley's and smiled. "Know that however you feel comfortable going, I'm still going as your boyfriend."

Crowley's cheeks went as red as his hair, though the color of the dress could be blamed for that. "Aziraphale…."

"No getting sappy now! We have to save all that for the graduation."

"You started it!"

"Really, my dear, that's quite childish." With his own teasing grin, he drew Crowley up, dress and all, to press a kiss to her lips again. "Now where do you keep your liquor?"

"Mmm, kitchen cabinet. Last one on your left. Glasses are right beside them. I probably should have given you the tour."

Tutting, Aziraphale released Crowley's hand as he shuffled into the kitchen, wanting to replace some of the buzz of nerves he felt with a more pleasant kind of buzz. It felt solidifying somehow to share the same kind of anxiety with Crowley. There was an unknown reaction to come. He would square his shoulders and prepare for the worst, but if Crowley were hurt….

He'd probably punch someone. He'd never done that before. At the least, he would have a lot of words for them, cutting and familiar since he was used to words.

Pulling out a bottle of brandy, he grabbed two glasses with the other hand and called out, "With ice?"

Crowley's voice behind him made him jump. "Yeah, water it down for us. That's not the best brandy anyways."

Wrinkling his nose, Aziraphale nodded. "Plum brandy. I'll say it's not the best."

"It was a gift." The words sounded like a shrug as he heard Crowley open the fridge door beside him. She slid next to him with an ice cube tray in hand, cracking it and placing two cubes in each glass.  
"Gifts and horse's mouths, I guess," Aziraphale conceded, smiling at Crowley.

Crowley's shoulders were drawn up to her ears. "That saying is stupid."

"Is it?" Aziraphale allowed the distraction because he'd requested it. Taking one of the glasses in hand, he sipped and then moved into what was a living room, though the space was open to the kitchen as well. Sitting on the couch that was more modern flair than comfort, he understood perfectly well why Crowley preferred his own couch.

"It is!" Crowley's hand predictably rose into the air in a dramatic slash, the other grabbing for the glass as she followed Aziraphale. "Someone gifts you a horse, of course you should make sure it's healthy! Teeth are how you check that quick and easy. Maybe not easy. I mean, it could bite you, but then it has a foul temper. Why would you accept a horse with a foul temper that's dying?"

"I wouldn't know, my dear." Aziraphale sipped at his drink to hide his smirk. "I haven't been around horses."

"That's not the point! I should be able to take a sip of this," Crowley griped, taking a sip and grimacing, "and tell them its a shit gift."

"What if they got you something they like?"

"There's no way they liked a foul and sick horse."

"I meant the alcohol, Crowley." Now he allowed exasperation to leak into his tone.

"I know what you meant. Why would someone like foul and sick alcohol?" She held up the glass to demonstrate her point.

"Liking the taste of alcohol is different to a horse. I do, however, see your point. If we followed that rule though, we'd be an uncivilized people. Usually you can tell if someone meant a gift as a matter of course or with intent to get you something you like and maybe...making an honest mistake."

Grumbling, Crowley looked down at her glass. "They should find out what you like...and make a list."

"I'm not disagreeing." Aziraphale patted at the space next to him. "I want to cuddle."

"Good!" Crowley smiled, slipping beside Aziraphale on the couch and burrowing into his side. "I really need one."

"You can ask— You can let me know you need to cuddle."

"What if you don't want one?"

Aziraphale smiled. "I think I can bear a cuddle for you. If I really don't want one, I'll let you know. I'll even provide a reason." He slid his arm around Crowley's shoulders, pulling her in close and turning to nuzzle into her hair.

"You don't have to."

"I want to, so there's no way you can misconstrue it."

Sighing, Crowley nodded. "That's fine then, but if you don't...that's okay. This relationship stuff is damn hard."

Aziraphale let out a surprised laugh. "It is! I wish I could make it easier."

"You make it easier than any other I've been in. I feel like I can talk to you. I can be me around you. The worst that happens is we talk." She wrinkled her nose, took another drink, and wrinkled her nose a second time.

Aziraphale couldn't hold back his grin. "You make me feel special, Crowley." When Crowley turned her face toward him, he leaned in, pressing lips to hers softly. When he drew back, there was a relaxed expression on Crowley's face, her eyes closed. "You're so very beautiful."

Crowley's eyes opened, a flush on her cheeks. "Ah, you're just...buttering me up."

"Guilty as charged. Whatever you decide, I'll support you."

"It's making the decision that's hard." Crowley bit at her lower lip. "I'm just worried about the consequences."

"And it's not silly to do that." He leaned in, pressing his nose to Crowley's. "Please don't worry about me too much though, my fear. Not enough that it makes the decision."

Heaving a sigh, Crowley nodded. "I know what you mean." She drew away to tip up the glass and drink it in long gulps, and then pressed back against Aziraphale again, tucking her head into his neck. "Mmm, you smell good."

"It's a new cologne—"

"No, it's you. I know what you smell like." There was a bite to Crowley's tone that made Aziraphale chuckle. "Don't laugh! I do. The cologne just...enhances it."

"I believe you," Aziraphale teased.

"Pfft." Crowley went quiet for a while, and Aziraphale held him as he sipped his drink. He had it half finished, soaking in the comfort of holding someone close without a single anxious thought, before Crowley spoke up again. "I can wear the dress. I'll skip the heels for sensible flats."

"Sensible?"

"That's just what they're called," Crowley chuckled. "I want to be...me. I want to feel good. I might need to hold your hand though."

"I can do that and more if you need it, my dear. I'll support you every step of the way."

"Um, will you call Adam beforehand and let him know?"

"Of course. He was asking me some questions, you know, about gender identity. Totally unprompted. I think he'll be quite accepting. He just might have questions."

"Like you did."

"Like I did. I'll admit I still have questions."

Crowley finally drew back, looking at him with raised brow. "Like what?"

Azirpahale felt heat in his cheeks and avoided Crowley's gaze as he pressed his lips to the rim of his glass and mumbled, "about your hair."

"About…?" Crowley's grin split her face. Aziraphale was annoyed she could become so easily amused. "I didn't hear you there." She tipped her face to one side, reaching a hand and run against his cheek and chin.

It didn't help his blush at all! "About your hair!"

Crowley drew back with wide eyes, lips parted. "My what?" Reaching a hand, she gripped a strand of her wig and held it between them. "What's wrong with it?"

"I mean," he began, thinking of how to word it carefully, "have you thought about growing it long?" Mentioning the wig seemed rude when Crowley had spent so much time in the mirror primping and styling it. He was sure this way it was clear he didn't mean the wig.

That made the grin falter as Crowley let go of her hair. "You— Would you like it long?"

Aziraphale smiled, more confident of his response here. "Of course I would. Especially if you liked it. This is beautiful." Here he paused to run his hands carefully over the long, red hair. "I was curious if you didn't do it because you liked short hair too, and this was easier."

"That's a good question." Crowley bit at her lower lip and sat back slightly. "I thought about it when I realized, but I just figured it would be...difficult."

"I don't doubt styling it would be!"

"I meant...difficult in other ways."

"It might be, but it's more accepted these days."

"True." Crowley grinned. "So if I grew it out, you wouldn't care?"

"I appreciate you being concerned with me caring, but sometimes you should do things for just you." Aziraphale pressed his hand over Crowley's. "It's one of those things we can talk about and work out." Aziraphale leaned to press a kiss to Crowley's cheek. It felt comfortable. Crowley never surprised him with more than he asked for. "I think you'd look beautiful with long hair. I've seen the way it wants to curl in the morning."

This time Crowley blushed, huffing a laugh. "I knew you were watching me sleep in the mornings."

"You don't like to wake up, my dear, so I end up with plenty of time."

"You get a kick out of being dressed with breakfast ready and lying in bed reading too when I roll over."

"I do. It's lovely to see the way you smile, me smile."

"Only because I see you opened your eyes," Crowley replied with a waggle of her eyebrows.

"We're getting sappy again."

"I'm blaming you." Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to Aziraphale's cheek. Aziraphale turned in kind to press one to her lips. "Mm, kissing you is the best thing."

"Better than plum whiskey?"

"Ah, it doesn't compare!" Crowley's hand rose into the air in protest. "I'm ready to go. You want to get the Uber or me?"

"You do it, my dear. I'll call Adam to let him know we're starting over."

"They have a thing after right?"

Aziraphale didn't miss how Crowley's shoulders tensed again as she stood up from the couch and wrestled her phone out of slacks. "I was thinking we could instead invite Adam and his friends out for a more quiet dinner. I do dislike being forced to socialize with all the parents."

"Gossip-mongers."

"Indeed." Aziraphale pressed the quick dial for Adam and held the phone to his ear, listening to the ring. When it picked up, he began speaking. "Just letting you know that we're heading to the school soon. I also wanted to speak to you about something." Crowley was studiously bent over her phone, but Aziraphale had no doubts he was listening.

"Hey, dad. What's up?"

Aziraphale realized acutely that he had no idea what to say. Covering the mouthpiece, he cleared his throat until Crowley looked back. "Um, what would you be comfortable with me saying, my dear?"

Crowley stared at him and then the phone before she heaved a sigh. "Put it on speaker."

Nodding, Aziraphale held the phone out, uncovering it as he pressed the screen. "Adam? It's me and Crowley now."

"Oh! Hey, Crowley!"

"Hi. Um, so…." Crowley trailed off, her face squinting in what could only be a confused grimace. Reaching over, Aziraphale grasped one of her hands and squeezed it. Crowley smiled at him and sighed again. "I'm asking permission to come to your graduation in a dress. I mean…as a woman."

There was a brief pause on the other end, and even Aziraphale felt his breath catch, before Adam's voice carried across casually. "Okay. Sounds fine. What color is the dress?"

"Uh, what?"

"I didn't know if you wanted to match our school colors. A lot of the moms do that." There was a tinge of amusement in his voice. "I'm okay with them doing it during a match, but it seems silly for graduation."

Crowley stared with wide eyes at Aziraphale, who smiled at him and spoke to Adam. "Thanks for understanding, Adam. Do you want to eat out after. Just the family?"

"Yeah. Except...do you mind if I invite someone?"

Aziraphale noted Adam's hesitant voice, but didn't know what to make of it. "I don't see why not. Who is it?"

"Uh, Warlock. His parents couldn't...make it. So, um, I want to hang out with him."

"He'd be quite welcome with us. We'll celebrate both of your graduations!" Azirphale could hear the smile in his voice and hoped it eased the tension in Adam's voice.

"Yeah. Thanks, dad! See you there!"

"You certainly will!" He hung up as he heard the soft ding that signaled the end of the call. Glancing at Crowley, he squeezed her hand again. "See? He's really—"

"Amazing. You've raised an amazing child. I mean, not so much a child anymore." Crowley squeezed his hand back. "Um, Warlock a friend of his?"

Aziraphale beamed. He was proud of his son if only because Crowley seemed much more relaxed. "I think, but I don't want to presume, this might be his friend friend."

"Oh, that could explain things." Crowley leaned into Aziraphale, smiled. "But it is good not to presume. Our ride will be here soon. Let me get dressed."

Aziraphale tilted his head up, drawing Crowley closer and kissing her again. "I'll get our jackets."

"And my purse. Dresses don't have any pockets."

"Oh, they don't." Azirpahale frowned, moving to the coat rack near Crowley's door to retrieve the items. "Maybe we can find dresses with pockets for you. I'm sure some enterprising woman must have made her own."

"Probably." Crowley swayed back into the living room, the green dress smooth across her hips. Aziraphale did like the way she moved with those long legs and shoulders following wherever her hips led her. She always looked close to falling over but gravity didn't dare to try. It was quite a silly thought. "I haven't really checked. I probably should."

"Definitely!" Aziraphale couldn't help but clap his hands together with a delighted grin, ignoring Crowley's raised brow. "You look marvelous!"

Crowley glanced down and back up at Aziraphale. "This old thing," she deflected, but she had a blush on her cheeks. "It does look good, doesn't it?"

"And comfortable." Folding, the jackets over his arm, he ran hands down his vest, fiddling with the buttons there for a moment. "Shall we be off?" He held out Crowley's purse, a light grey in color.

Taking the purse in her hands, Crowley piled the items that had been in her pockets into them and nodded. "Definitely. Let's go wow them!"

"Hah," Aziraphale barked. "We certainly will!" Opening the door, he took the stairs down into Crowley's store, watching bemusedly as Crowley stalked around his plants, leaning in close to some to mumble at them before she moved to the door. "You're quite strict with them."

"They need to be on their best behavior," Crowley insisted. She locked the door behind them as they stood on the sidewalk. It was quiet in the area around Crowley's shop, but Sundays most businesses were closed or had reduced hours. Since the graduation of Tadfield school was today, most buildings were shuttered for the event. "Thanks, by the way."

Aziraphale turned to Crowley with raised brows. "For...what?"

"Just being you, I guess." Crowley smiled. "Not many that would react the way you do."

Huffing, Aziraphale frowned. "Not many that would stop and think before speaking, you mean? Yes, taking the time to consider what words can do and mean is a lost art, I agree."

Crowley laughed, bumping hips with Aziraphale. "Spoken like a true literary snob."

"Snob?" Aziraphale turned to look down the street, hand moving toward Crowley. He hesitated, and then slid his arm around her to cup her waist. It felt nice. Crowley pressed into him and that felt nice too. "I happen to just have refined tastes. I believe people could learn a lot from books with some critical thinking."

"Critical thinking, hm?" Crowley was still looking at him. Her smile was clear in her tone. She felt relaxed where she leaned against him.

"Yes. You can't just absorb everything a book tells you. It always carries the author's bias there. You have to analyze what it tells you, collate the evidence the book gives, and do additional, outside research if needed. Many books present things from a point of view that is skewed, and unreliable narrators are a brilliant plot device if recognized."

"Some people can't recognize unreliable narrators?"

"Just imagine that you have your own bias and you read something confirming that bias."

"An echo chamber kind of."

"Exactly. It pays to always balance your sources of information. At the least so you understand the way the opposition thinks."

"Sometimes the opposition sucks though."

Aziraphale turned his attention back to Crowley, smiling. "Well, yes, sometimes the opposition is stupid."

Crowley laughed. "Well, I just ask questions."

"Questions are good, I agree." He paused for a moment. "Does it bother you when sometimes there isn't really an answer?"

Crowley's expression sobered as she tilted her head. "Sometimes. Maybe we just don't have the answer yet though."

"Maybe the question isn't that important either."

Wrinkling her nose, Crowley gave Aziraphale a reprimanding stare. "My questions are always important!"

Luckily, the sound of a car turning onto the street distracted them both. Crowley tensed in his arms and then relaxed with an outward breath. Squeezing his arm briefly where it was wrapped around her, he released her so he could open the back door as it slid to the curb in front of them. "That's because you're important," he added.

Crowley's eyes went wide, cheeks pink. "Bastard," she mumbled affectionately.

As Crowley scooted over carefully, Aziraphale joined her in the backseat and closed the door. "Tadfield High School please." He didn't know if Crowley had already told the driver that, but the man eyed them in the rearview and then nodded. He didn't give either of them a second look.

Placing a hand on Crowley's lap, Aziraphale smiled. Crowley smiled in return, some of her tension leaving. She had explained to Aziraphale how important passing was, and a non-reaction from a stranger meant a lot. Aziraphale could tell her she looked wonderful as much as he pleased, but it was — they both admitted — purely biased.

They passed the car ride in silence. It did not take long to pull up to the school, already full of parents and children dressed in formal attire. Adam and Tracy were waiting out front, and Aziraphale grimaced when he spied Shadwell. Leaning toward Crowley, he whispered. "Shadwell can be a…." He trailed off to think of a word and then sighed. "an uncouth boor."

Raising a brow, Crowley leaned down to peer through Aziraphale's window, putting them almost cheek-to-cheek. "Think he'll cause problems?"

"I think that Tracy has gone a long way to correcting his behavior. Most of it is either generanational or cultural."

"Ah, the generation thing is a load of," she began, glancing at the driver surreptitiously watching them, "bull. Tracy must love him for some reason."

Aziraphale tipped his nose into the air as he opened the door and got out of the car. "I certainly don't know why."

Chuckling, Crowley got out on her side, leaning over the driver's windows to hand him a tip. "Thank you." As the Uber driver pulled away from the curb, Crowley joined Aziraphale on the sidewalk to watch Adam and Tracy walk towards them with Shadwell shuffling after.

"Doesn't the app tip them," Aziraphale asked to calm the nerves rising up.

"Nah. That's bull too."

"Aziraphale! Crowley! You made it!" Tracy embraced Aziraphale first, planting a kiss in the air over Aziraphale's cheek he knew to make sure she didn't smear it on his cheek. Then she turned to Crowley, looked at him hard, and grinned, embracing him as well. "You look wonderful," she crowed. Stepping back, her elbow nudged Shadwell as he opened his mouth.

Shooting her a grateful look, Aziraphale responded as Shadwell lapsed into silence with a frown, rubbing at his side. "We wouldn't miss it for the world." He turned to Adam, lacing his fingers in front of him. "Is a hug—"

Adam didn't let him finish asking as he grinned and wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. "Anyone who teases me for hugging my dad is lame!"

Laughing, Aziraphale released her so Adam could also hug Crowley. She embraced him with more enthusiasm than she had Tracy, but Aziraphale supposed that was fair. No one hugged Shadwell and he seemed glad for it. "Do we have assigned seats?"

"No." Tracy smiled. "Shadwell and I saved seats up front, but there are some left in the middle." She even winked at him, as if she were being subtle in saying they didn't have to sit near Shadwell.

Shadwell began to speak then, though a thick accent, and Aziraphale was glad when Tracy raised her voice to meet his, turning them both around to 'find their seats'. "Ah, your mother is a blessedly astute woman."

"That's Shadwell," came Crowley's shocked voice. It was a startling reproduction of Aziraphale's drunken rant from the night they had just met.

When Aziraphale turned, the grimace that hadn't been on her face was now clear. "He makes Tracy happy. Apparently he convinced her to go back to her schooling. She's going to finish her degree."

Adam nodded, grabbing both of their hands and beginning to walk toward a group of children staring at him. "Okay, come meet my friends."

Aziraphale shot an apologetic look at Crowley, but Crowley was staring at Adam tightly, hand wound around the boy's. If Aziraphale had been capable of being a cold-hearted person at all, it would have melted at the fond look on Crowley's face. He imagined she hadn't considered she might also make a friend.

"Hey Wensleydale, Pepper, Brian, and Warlock, this is Aziraphale, my dad, and his partner Crowley."

Aziraphale's eyes travel over each of the children, pausing only at the one called Warlock. This child has dark hair hanging over his face, head slightly bowed, and a grimace on his face. That grimace lightens when he notices Aziraphale's gaze. Aziraphale nods at him, and the boy's head ducks further.

He won't make any judgements now. That wouldn't be fair at all, but he is so intrigued. Belatedly he realizes how Adam has introduced Crowley, and he turns, smiling and reaching to hold Crowley's hand.

Crowley's cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are lit up, already engaged in discussion with Pepper. Aziraphale had quite forgotten how fiery the girl is, and she's staring at Crowley with a calculating and admiring look in equal parts.

"Dad, we need to go and get ready now. You two should get a seat before they're all gone." Adam smiled.

Scotting closer while not dropping his hold on Crowley's hand simply because he didn't want to, he leaned in toward Adam. "Is your speech ready?"

"Yes. I'm ready to say it."

"Good." Aziraphale laid a hand on Adam's shoulder. "Did anyone read it over and have a strange opinion?"

Adam grinned at his wording, but he shook his head. "No, I handed it to my English Lit professor. They loved it."

Aziraphale's eyebrows went up at the pronoun in surprise, and then he smirked. "Very smart. Shall we go, my dear?" He squeezed Crowley's hand gently.

Crowley returned the squeeze, pointing at Pepper briefly. "We'll continue this discussion!" Before she nodded at Aziraphale. "Lead the way." As they left the children to get dressed and ready in the annex building, Crowley smiled and leaned against Aziraphale. "Those are some wonderful kids. Imagine such progressive thinkers like that in this small town?"

"Tadfield may be a small town, but many of its people are refugees, I'd wager. I certainly was, as was Tracy."

"Shadwell?" Crowley stuck out her tongue.

Barking a laugh, Aziraphale swiped at Crowley's shoulder. "Oh, you! No, he's not a man I particularly like, but he's made Tracy happy and he doesn't interfere with us raising Adam. He also wouldn't dare say anything against you or I-I'd punch him."

"You'd punch him?" Crowley was smirking now.

Weaving his way through the crowd of parents working out seats among themselves in front of the stage, Aziraphale tried hard not to look at Crowley. "I could very well punch him, Crowley. You curl your fist into a ball. It cannot be that hard."

"Be better if you just picked up something and whapped him."

"Crowley!"

"How is whapping him worse than punching him?"

Aziraphale did turn to look at Crowley then, who was grinning too wide. "He's not a dog."

"Tracy looks to be house-training—"

"Ah, here are seats," Aziraphale was quick to interject, tugging to slide them between rows of chairs and ones that should give them a clear view of the stage as long as someone very tall didn't sit in front of them.

Crowley was still smirking as she sat down beside him. She leaned against him and sighed. "This is nice."

"I'm glad it is." Aziraphale smiled, their hands still clasped between them. "And I will."

"You will what?"

"Punch anyone who upsets you."

Crowley leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. "I shall take that as the sweet gesture it's meant to be. I will refuse to sell them anything at my shop."

"Oh, I suppose I could do that…."

"You don't sell anything anyways!"

A hush fell over the crowd, and Aziraphale used that as an excuse to shoot a meaningful glare with no heat at Crowley before they both turned to the stage. Aziraphale wiggled on the seat, trying to get comfortable and knowing the hours-long ceremony would guarantee he would feel how hard the seat was before it was all over.

He couldn't imagine the kids dealt with it well. Crowley was sitting upright, but the way her feet twitched, her legs wanted to do their customary sprawl.

As the principal began to drone an overly-enthusiastic speech, Aziraphale leaned over to whisper. "They should provide us drinks."

Crowley turned to give Aziraphale a wide-eyed stare, hissing back, "Alcohol?"

"No…. Just water. They didn't even allow outside food or drink."

"Ah, you know school's are stuffy. I used to bring in snacks to classes."

"Did you get caught?"

"All the time. Got sent to the principals. Even got detention. Can you imagine expelling a kid for eating?"

"It really is ridiculous. What harm does eating really do?"

"Who knows. Long as the kid cleans up after themselves— Oh, it's Adam."

They had managed to whisper at each other for most of the opening speeches, and now Adam stood at the podium, smiling at first Tracy, and then where Aziraphale and Crowley sat. 

"Fellow students and eager parents. We start our journey today into a world that may not always accept us. In fact, most of the time the world is going to tell you how you should be and treat you differently for just trying to be yourself. University is a time where we can discover our true selves, and also change, adapt, and grow into the people we want to be. I wanted to pause for a moment to say that I hope we remember we are deserving of love, life, and respect! Never forget that." Adam's eyes were leveled on the crowd, shifting from section to section as his voice carried out confidently to the gathering.

"He did not get this from me," Aziraphale whispered, gaze not straying from his son.

"Oh, I think he did," Crowley responded, leaning in toward him and squeezing his hand. "I think this message of acceptance and contradicting society exactly comes from you."

They missed none of Adam's speech despite their conversation as Adam continued. "Over the last couple months, I have begun to know myself in ways I, in the past, dismissed. As I have learned to open up to myself, love myself even deeper, I see others crying out to receive that same kind of love. I want you to know you are worthy of it."

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, feeling ridiculous with his mouth hanging open and his face flushed. "Crowley," he hissed in a high tone."

Crowley chuckled softly. "What? It's true. I've never seen someone so ready to fly in the face of any tradition that got in the way of someone else's happiness."

Adam shifted on stage, drawing their attention back to him. His face was solemn as his impassioned voice rose and fell. "With all these emotions swirling around us, it is important that we not only take care of each other but also ourselves. You are a truly unique individual. You are not boring. You are not plain. No one else can do what you're doing right now in life, whatever that may be. If you wish you were doing something else, then I hope that comes to you. I hope you find time to really appreciate who you are as a person. No one can replace you. Certainly you have those who look up to and idolize you as you, perhaps, look up and idolize others."

"Think I'm looking up to your son right now."

Aziraphale could only agree. Adam was barely stepping out into the world, and already he was striving to leave an impression here with his classmates in hopes it would follow what awaited them. 

"Sometimes we live in a world that makes us forget that. Sometimes you're the only one who can remind yourself of that." Adam took in a long before as he looked at his class. "And sometimes you need someone else to say it. I want to take the time to say it now."

Crowley's head sank onto Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale's arm came to wrap around Crowley's shoulders. Perhaps the students weren't the only ones who needed to hear this.

"You deserve all the happiness and satisfaction you get in life. In fact, you deserve a whole lot more. Never stop reaching for it, and if you lose your sense of direction, please accept that helping hand reaching out to you. You deserve it," Adam concluded. Raising a hand, he firmly grasped his cap before flinging it into the air above him. With a roaring cheer, his classmates joined him.

Standing with Crowley, they both applauded, Aziraphale feeling his own heart swell. He met Tracy's gaze across the crowd and smiled. She could see her mouthing something, and he squinted until the words became clear. Then he grinned and mouthed back, 'Yes, that is our son.'

Turning, he smiled at Crowley, letting go of her hands so he could cup her cheeks and kiss her on the lips. She made a surprised noise and then melted against him. He doubted anyone around them understood. In fact, he was sure some might be taken aback by the public display.

Crowley was happy though. He could feel her smile against his lips. Leaning back, he clasped Crowley's hands as the students and parents began to draw together again. "Shall we join Adam and Tracy?"

"What about Shadwell?"

"I have decided this is a family event. I am sure Tracy will agree."

"She does seem a sensible woman." Smiling, Crowley nodded.

Aziraphale led them both through the crowd and toward the waiting Adam and Tracy with Warlock just joining them. First he was going to tell his son how proud of him he was. Then he would include Warlock and get to know his son's friend. Finally, he was going to enjoy the rest of his time with Crowley.

In fact, he was going to enjoy the rest of his life with Crowley, and damn the world if they tried to tell them otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is completed! I hinted at the Warlock and Adam relationship because they're kids. They're going to college (together in my mind), and during that time is when kids start to become adults. Notice I said 'start' and not 'are'. Their story will go further than the scope of this one, but it is there, and I believe it will be a good journey for both of them, if a bit tumultuous at times.
> 
> In the end, this was a journey for me. It's only recently that NB in the media has become a thing, and being exposed it made me realize some things about myself. Those things I realized accumulated in a speech I wrote for my political roleplay during a June Pride event held site-wide by my own community. That speech is Adam's speech.
> 
> I had quite the laugh when I got to the part where I had to write this speech and realized I had already written it! :D
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this ride. If you'd like more, The Grand Design of Art and Coffee is quite the popular work. It will be getting a sequel that I plan to start posting around November. For now, I am working on Volatile Spirits, which is a fantasy genre romance with our fav duo...but this time as the Ineffable Wives.
> 
> Thanks to all those who left kudos and comments or even just stopped by to peek. I love you all and please take care of yourselves. Every part of that speech is meant from the bottom of my heart.


End file.
